


The Cake Job

by frackin_sweet



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frackin_sweet/pseuds/frackin_sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sophia had lived and been found?  What if the group split up at the Greene farm?  What if that thorny issue of not killing the living keeps coming back to haunt them?</p><p>It is 5 years post-ZA.  There is a new "normal", FEMA and the military are in charge of large parts of the country, a vaccine has been developed, and society is limping along.  Daryl, T-Dog, and Sophia are in south Florida, making a living as "cleaners".  It's not what it sounds like.  They're killing walkers Wild West-style and trading their services for what they need.</p><p>Until they take on a job with unexpected personal and professional complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cake Job

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Notes:** This story contains multiple POVs. It also has spoilers, adult and racist language, sexual content, implied character death, drug and alcohol use, and violence - thus it is a mixed bag of things that could be bothersome to people.
> 
> Insane amounts of thanks to betas imkalena, doctor_jehane, linaerys, and last but not least, vegarin, without whom I'd probably have junked this thing about a hundred times. Thanks for encouraging me and meta-ing and for each of your unique skills and beta contributions, guys! <3 I AM SORRY I LOVE COMMAS SO MUCH.
> 
>  **ANNNNDDD, some updated notes** , as of September 2012. This story diverges from canon at the point of Season 2, Episode 2 ( approximately). Not that you couldn't have figured that out by yourself, but I felt like I had to address the whole "everybody is infected" thing - at the time I conceived the story, that was just conjecture, and one I felt like ignoring. Wooo, imagination!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, enjoyed, given kudos or comments, or rec'ed this story somewhere. You guys really make me feel good <3

 

 

**The Cake Job**

 

_T-Dog_

Theodore Douglas knew that he was the most mentally healthy member of their little family business. He always had to put imaginary finger-quotes around the words, because the three of them weren’t blood family, and only recently had they incorporated into what passed for a legitimate business. It was what it was. And as per usual, it was down to him to make peace.

He could see a lanky, girlish form standing at the edge of the water, hair whipping across her face, skirt plastered to her legs. She was hunched over against the damp wind in a worn, brown leather jacket, watching a lone fishing boat make its way seaward. Not wanting to startle her, he cleared his throat.

“He tell you to come after me?” She asked the question without turning around. 

“Nope. Said he was going over to Shep’s for a drink.”

She stuffed her hands deeper in her pockets. “Well, good. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood afterward.” She turned to look at him, and her red eyes had nothing to do with the wind and the stinging salt spray. “I don’t see why he’s so angry. All I asked for is what my mom wanted.”

Theodore wasn’t even going to try to address the first part of her statement. He hadn’t seen Daryl angry like that for a long time, and he’d _never_ seen him get that angry at Sophia. “Your mom wanted you safe and cared for, and that’s all he wants, you know that.”

“He doesn’t know _shit_ about what my mom wanted, considering all she ever wanted was for him to care about her. And he couldn’t manage that, so he owes her this.” Her eyes were narrow, and Theodore thought about how she’d learned a thing or two about anger herself over the years. “You heard the will. She left her third of the business to me. I want a full partnership. And that’s what’s going to happen, and I don’t care what Daryl wants!”

“Come on, now. That ain’t fair, and you know it. Daryl loved your mama. He wasn’t gonna lead her on, though. You blaming him for being his own backward self?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Sophia made a frustrated sound. “I don’t care what his feelings are or what they aren’t. I want him to honor the agreement they had. One-third of the business. Mine.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow at her. “What you gonna do if he doesn’t? Sue him? Good luck finding a court.” It was true. Cocoa Beach wasn’t part of any Federal Zone, so there was about as much legal infrastructure as Deadwood, circa 1876. Plus the occasional dead things walking around. “And you’re not of age yet.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been running the entire back office operation at Dixon Douglas for the past six months. Mom taught me everything.” She started ticking details off on her fingers. “Do either of you even know how we deal with Federal Zone currency? No? How about where we go to liquidate sketchy payments, like stolen vaccines? Anything?” 

Theodore sighed. He didn’t. Carol had had a head for all of that, she knew the black marketeers, the guys who referred reliable work, and the ones who didn’t. And she knew how to do the books so that Dixon Douglas would stay off the grid even when South Florida inevitably got absorbed into a Federal Zone.

“Babygirl, you doing the administrative stuff isn’t what he has a problem with. He don’t want you in the field, and I’m sorry, but I agree with that.”

“That’s bullshit. I take more target practice than the two of you combined! If I was in the military, I’d have a marksmanship qualification on both pistol and rifle, and you know it. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be out in the field. And I don’t _want_ to just do admin stuff.” She made a sour face. “I’m not a secretary.”

“Neither was your mom. It’s important work. Lord knows we need someone keeping track of things. You already pointed out how bad Daryl and me are at it.”

“I can do both. It’s not a problem. You two just have this stupid idea that I need to be kept safe, or something, and I can do that myself, no problem. I -” she stopped, distracted by something in her jacket pocket. 

Theodore watched her withdraw the beat-up old phone they used to conduct business. It was somewhat unreliable with the cell networks going down every other day or so, but apparently they were working again. 

Sophia studied the screen with a puzzled look before she answered. “Dixon Douglas.”

“We just had your mama’s funeral and you’re _working_?” Theodore was aghast. They had unofficially closed for a couple of days to take care of the cremation and the almost nonexistent service. Today, the reading of Carol’s will had been the last thing to do before they returned to work. Technically, that had happened about an hour ago, but it still seemed too soon for them to be taking business calls.

She held up a finger at him to be quiet as she listened. “Yes, I apologize for that. And yes, we’re still interested in the contract. If I can have Mr. Dixon call back within the half-hour, will that work for you?” She listened to the caller again, face still and unreadable, and then it broke into a sudden smile as she looked at Theodore. “Yes, absolutely. Call us back and we’ll get things sorted. Thank you.” She clicked off.

“And who was that?”

She put the phone back in her pocket. “That was one of Mitchell Calley’s people. We are _thisclose_ ” - she made a minute finger-thumb gesture - “to getting that job cleaning his ranch in Jasper so he can sell it off as secure settlement land. But only if our fearless leader calls him back in the next thirty minutes.” She started across the sand towards the boardwalk. “Think you could pry him out of Shep’s to take the call?”

Theodore fell into step with her. “I’ll carry him to the house if I have to.” 

She turned abruptly. “Never mind, that’s a waste of time. I’ll come down to Shep’s with you. He’ll let us use his back room if we need it.”

Theodore felt a little doubtful about this. Not Shep giving them access to his bar, but Daryl taking kindly to being cornered when he was trying drink his way into oblivion. But his worries didn’t matter. One thing did: get Daryl Dixon to behave long enough for them to sign this contract. The pay was top-notch, and really, how many walkers could still be left in a small town in North Florida? It was a cake job, for sure. 

The clop-clop of Sophia’s sandals on the boardwalk jarred him out of his rumination on that pay and its potential applications. “Hey. Slow down. I can see you all ready to start in on him as soon as we get there, and you and I both know how that’s likely to turn out.”

Sophia slowed and turned to look at him. Her eyes got big. “Really? That was something I didn’t know, T, thank you!”

“Sarcasm is not a desirable quality in a lovely young lady like yourself.”

“I love how everyone makes all these noises about protecting _me_ from things, when the person we’re all really sheltering is Daryl. From like, having feelings or something.” She toyed with the zipper on her jacket, running it up and down. “At any rate, you underestimate my powers of persuasion.” 

With that, she sailed ahead of him again, light-footed, up the rickety pier steps. “Hey, Shep, what’s good?” she called out.

Theodore cringed. Did she really have to announce their presence? Personally, he’d have chosen stealth over a frontal assault. Looking around, he couldn’t see Daryl anywhere. Shep either, for that matter.

Some years ago the bar had been a haven for vacationers, offering technicolor fruity cocktails and flaming shots, with surfboards and signs and sports memorabilia all over the driftwood-plank walls. Now, little of that touristy decor remained. People tacked up pictures of deceased or missing loved ones on the walls, and if the lighting was largely a bunch of candles stuffed in bottles, that was more due to the frequent power outages than any attempt to create ambience. 

“Nothin’ and everything, kid. Depends on your point of view.” Grizzled Charlie Shepherd strode out. Six foot four and bearing a carbuncled web of burn scars more impressive than his collection of prison tattoos, he was a scary guy. Shep was the living, breathing answer to why you didn’t try to take down walkers with a flamethrower. He’d tried to put down his fourth ex-wife with one and lived unbitten to tell the tale, although it had taken him over a year to recover and he’d never be able to open his left eye again.

Right now he was wearing some kind of hideous Hawaiian shirt and a ball cap jammed over what was left of his hair. As soon as he saw Sophia, he took the hat off and Theodore cringed at the sight of his skull, which was not the sort of thing a person ever got used to seeing. “I’m sorry about your mama, kid. She was a good lady.”

Sophia stood on tiptoe to kiss him on his gnarled cheek. “Thanks, Shep. I appreciate that.” She looked around. “He inside?”

Shep nodded. “Said he wanted to be alone.” He shrugged, which looked a little like boulders shifting under his shirt. 

Theodore watched Sophia take a deep breath. Shep seemed to sense that she was screwing up her courage for this particular confrontation. He reached down and rummaged under the bar, clanking bottles together until he came topside with one. Jameson. 

Theodore gave a low whistle. Commercially produced beer and liquor were hard to come by, and most of what Shep sold was his own hair-curling concoction distilled from corn grits or fruit peelings or whatever he could get. But he kept a few precious bottles around for special occasions, and, apparently, he thought this was one. He ceremoniously brought out three glasses.

“T-Dog, get over here and observe the tradition.” Shep carefully poured three shots.

Theodore nodded. “We all Irish today, man.” He held up his glass, and Sophia did the same. 

“May the road rise to meet you...” Shep started, but his hoarse voice crumbled and seemed unwilling to produce the rest. Old bastard was sentimental.

“ ‘Til we meet again,” Sophia said softly, skipping the main part of the toast, and then downed her shot. Theodore nodded and did the same, and Shep finally managed to get his down too. They all banged the glasses on the bar.

“Okay.” Sophia looked a little watery-eyed, but it could be the whiskey as much as anything. She smoothed the front of her skirt. “No sense putting it off.”

“Wait, kid,” Shep stopped her long enough to hand her the bottle of Jameson and a clean glass. “It’s not a job for the rotgut,” he said reasonably.

She looked at Theodore, and he smiled. “Sing out if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine.” It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than anyone else.

Theodore and Shep watched her walk into the bar.

 

***

 

_Sophia_

She knew she shouldn't feel this nervous. She should still be angry. March right up to Daryl Dixon, sitting in that booth nursing a bottle of Shep's nasty homebrew, and tell him how it was going to be. A full third partnership in the business, with nobody treating her like a child or like she didn’t have as much right to it as anybody. They'd be screwed without her, at this point. 

She thought about it as she stopped - he didn't seem to have heard her yet, was still staring off into the middle distance. She could do it. She could tell them she'd leave. There were places she could go, both in Cocoa and beyond. She has skills people would value. She had her own guns and her own resources and screw Daryl and T-Dog anyhow. Except. 

Except that just thinking about saying those words put a sour taste in her mouth, like vomit. Yeah, she could say it. Doing it was another matter. And if Daryl was still angry, if he called her bluff and gave her that narrow look and said, "Leave, then, like I care." What then?

A vivid memory, one she did not want or need right now, rooted her to the spot.

_Her mother, lying in the narrow metal bed at that FEMA-run slaughterhouse that passes for a medical center in Cocoa. Drenched in sweat and wracked with pain, while the doctors try to pump enough painkillers into her collapsed veins._

_"You need to know this." Carol’s voice is a whisper, all the sinews in her neck standing out with the effort to talk. "It was me. I told him to stop looking for you. I gave up."_

_Sophia stares at her, the blood pounding in her ears, almost loud enough to drown out that harsh whisper. But not quite. And Carol is gripping her hand, tight and urgent._

_"I don't think he would have stopped. Don't blame him. Blame me. It was my fault." And then her eyes roll up again, as is starting to happen more often during the worst pain._

_"Mom? Mommy?" Sophia's throat is closing, and she’s too rough as she digs her fingers into Carol's wrist to feel for that thready pulse. When she finds it, she drops to the chair beside the bed and rests her forehead against the metal bed rails._

She was gripping the bottle so hard her knuckles hurt. Carol's job had now passed on to her, and if she meant to have it, then she was going to have to take all of it. Even this part.

Had she made a noise? Because Daryl was looking at her. It was just a look, long and unreadable, before he picked up the bottle again. "I ain't fighting with you anymore, if that's what you're here after."

She pried her feet loose from the floor and walked over. He was swirling the bottle slowly, stirring up whatever gross sediment was in the bottom. Sophia took it from him, and before he could protest, she set the bottle of Jameson in front of him, and the glass. "We had a toast out front. It's your turn."

She slid into the booth across from him as he took the bottle and poured. "What, that asshole don't keep any Jack in this joint?" He pounded the shot like he was planning to send the rest of the bottle after it in short order.

"I think he chose to give us the good stuff." Sophia considered pouring herself another. Daryl had been the one who insisted she learn how to hold her liquor in the first place, last year, swearing that if she told her mother he'd drop-kick her off the pier. But right now she needed to be sharp, especially because she didn't know how long he'd been working on Shep's mixture.

"Psh. Good's a matter of opinion." He poured another shot and put down the bottle. But instead of drinking again, he fumbled around inside his jacket, and Sophia was again amazed at the fact that he'd managed to procure an actual black suit from somewhere. No one had quite had the courage to tell him he cleaned up good, but the thought remained. Another time, maybe. Not that he'd ever wear it again.

He pulled out a creased photograph and pushed it across the table at her. "Remember that?"

Sophia looked down. It was the four of them, after the completion of their first job cleaning walkers out of a couple of Titusville motels. They were standing with the payment for that first job, a beat-up four-by-four pickup, its bed loaded with gas cans because back then, fuel was currency. Still was, for that matter. Gas and vehicles and guns. 

In the picture, nobody but T-Dog was looking at the camera, hanging out the driver's side window and flashing a huge smile and a "number one" with his left hand. Sophia herself was perched on the hood, looking at Daryl, who was standing next to her. He was pointing a finger at Carol, who was on Sophia's other side, hanging onto her so she didn't slide off, and telling them in no uncertain terms that as soon as they got the truck home, he was teaching them both how to drive it, because they were pretty damn worthless if they couldn't drive stick.

Of course she remembered it. She remembered all T-Dog had gone through to find someone who could develop actual film. She smoothed her fingers across it, looking at the way the color had faded. Her eyes felt hot. _Don't blink don't blink don't blink_. Tears on that piece of paper would make the color run and ruin it. She swallowed, passed it back, and looked up. "I remember it."

Daryl grinned at her for a second. "Had to put blocks on the pedals for a full year before you could sit in that thing and reach ‘em. You still drove better than your mom, though." The moment passed, and he frowned. He quickly drank his whiskey and poured yet another one.

Okay. Time for business. Sophia put her hand over the glass, and before he could protest, she began. "I got a call, earlier. Calley wants us to sign, today. He wants to talk to you about it."

Daryl looked too surprised to even snicker at the name as he usually did. “You talked to Calley?”

“I talked to one of his people. Who said Calley was going to call back in a half-hour, and that he was going to want you, not me, so that you two can work out some sort of ‘gentleman’s agreement’, or something. Which only goes to show he doesn’t know you very well.” Sophia checked the time on the phone. “We’ve got five minutes, no, four.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to pressure you about the partnership, right now. Just get this job. We need it.”

“Amen to that,” T-Dog had appeared in the corner, arms folded. “We can work out the rest of it afterward.” He said this with meaningful looks for both of them, and Sophia nodded. _She_ was willing to cooperate, at least. 

Daryl stared at T-Dog for a long moment, and then looked back at Sophia. “Even if this means me and T leave you here in Cocoa to hold down the fort?”

Sophia felt her jaw twitch, but nodded again. “Even if.” She didn’t look away, even though Daryl didn’t answer and it started to feel like a staredown, and her eyelid started twitching along with her jaw.

Abruptly, Daryl nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.” He looked over at T-Dog. “So I guess you didn’t tell her, then?”

T-Dog shook his head. “Didn’t know you’d made up your mind yet, man. I mean, you know what I think. But you usually do your own thing. So I figured it best come from you.”

Sophia swiveled her gaze from one to the other. “What the hell are you two talking about? Tell me _what_?”

They were both smiling, but Sophia felt her stomach sink. This could not be good. She was just about to pick up the bottle and dump the rest of it in Daryl’s lap when he spoke.

“Name of the business is changing.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

T-Dog took up the explanation. “It’s been in the works awhile. Your mama knew about it, well. We wanted to do it before. Tell you before.”

“Wasn’t important before.” Daryl finished it for him. “She thought it would matter to you, and after a half-hour of listenin’ to you yell your brains out at me, I guess you made yourself good and clear that it did.”

“You’re about to hear me yell again,” Sophia pointed her finger at him. “Start making sense _now_!”

Daryl slapped her finger aside, not hard, just a tap, really. “Don’t you get all snippy with me.” His tone changed, just slightly. “You’re a full partner already. It’s done.”

Sophia’s mouth fell open. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Was gonna. Until you got all up on your high horse about bein’ in the field and all that noise. That’ll happen when I say it happens. So.” He looked over at T-Dog, and back at Sophia. “We all cool now?”

He was smiling again, damn him. Much as she didn’t love his last dig about the fieldwork, she couldn’t stop smiling either, which was annoying. So she kicked him under the table for good measure. “We’re cool, yeah.” 

She jumped when the phone on the table vibrated itself a couple of inches to the left. She looked at Daryl. “Oh, my God. What are we called now? Dixon Douglas Peletier is like...way too long! My name doesn’t fit in there with you guys’ names!” 

“Are you gonna pick it up, or sit there worryin’ about what to say?”

T-Dog slid into the booth. “I got it. We’re DDP. Easy to remember, professional, sounds kinda badass.”

Daryl snorted. “Sounds like bug-killer.” Then he sat up. “Wait. That’s kinda okay.”

T-Dog shook Sophia’s arm. “Answer the dang _phone_!”

Sophia grabbed at it, and Daryl had to put a hand out as she almost bobbled it off the table. She thumbed it on. “DDP.” She locked eyes with Daryl. “Yes, Mr. Calley. He’s right here.”

The negotiations were fairly short. Not half an hour later, they were back out on the beach. Daryl had the bottle of whiskey, now considerably less full, in one hand, and was skipping pebbles out into the surf. Good thing he’d taken his shoes off because he was lurching around a little at this point. 

She watched him attempt to loosen his tie one-handed and decided not to help, because he just looked so damn _smug_. “Aww, come on, I’m your favorite person right now,” he grinned at her. “Quit poutin’.”

“She ain’t poutin’, she’s thinkin’ about bein’ a rich girl!” T-Dog yelled, jumping up to try to keep his feet dry, and not succeeding as a wave caught him in the shins. “Right?”

“Damn right!” Sophia ran and leaped on his back before he could get out of the way. “You have to tell Zoe the good news!” She had a sudden realization. “Oh, my God! Zoe! You should propose to her!”

“That girl ain’t dumb enough to marry your big ass,” Daryl crowed. “She’s gettin’ the milk for free, so why buy the cow?” He actually giggled at his own joke, a good reflection of how drunk he was getting.

“That’s so original, how did you ever make that up?” Sophia shot back at him. “Quit being a jerk just because you can’t get yourself a girlfriend!” Seeing her opportunity, she slid off T-Dog and ran at Daryl.

He sidestepped, so she backed up to kick the biggest splash of water she could at him. 

“Hey, now,” T-Dog was safely back on the sand. “Soon as you two get done celebratin’ over there, we do have one very serious detail to consider.”

Oh, shit. In all of the excitement, Sophia had forgotten. Mitchell Calley had told them that the reason he was offering them the contract was not so much their reputation, but the fact that his previous deal had fallen through due to one of the cleaners being unable to pass the Federal Zone purity checkpoints. Calley’s ranch in Jasper was located in Zone 21, so DDP would have to pass through the purity checkpoint as well.

And there was no way their crew would pass. When the four of them had gotten the vaccination almost two years ago, Daryl had such a violent reaction - fever, vomiting, febrile seizure - that they had had to bring him back to the medical center. 

The doctor had stabilized him and said he would recover, but then he told them he was required to insert a minute tracker tag in the back of Daryl’s neck. The tracker tag would identify him as a carrier of the virus. A dormant strain, but all the same the Feds demanded all carriers be prohibited entry into the Zones.

The same technicality that had gotten DDP this job could also take it away from them. Daryl hadn’t batted an eye when Calley had told them about it, treating both Sophia and T-Dog with dark looks when they reacted with shock at his agreement to Calley’s terms.

He didn’t seem any more worried about it now, for that matter. “I told you before. Shep knows a guy. Deactivates tracker tags all the time, man.” Daryl walked over to T-Dog to offer him the bottle. “No big. We go to this guy, he kills it, we do the job, we get fat paid.”

Sophia wrinkled her nose. “So where is this guy, then?” She waited for Daryl to answer, but he just shrugged. “Is it one of the tech pirates?” Sketchy people, all of them, but necessary if you wanted out-of-date technology, like your 5-year-old, pre-epidemic smart phone, wired with satellite chips or the long-range web access boosters that would allow you to run your business. Or if you needed your tag killed. Sophia reached for the bottle.

Daryl eyeballed her for a few, and then let her take it and watched her take a careful swallow before answering. “Yeah. Guy named...something. Toxiclollipop or somethin’ faggy like that.”

“I don’t think we care about his sexuality as long as he can kill your tag without...you know. Killing _you_.” Sophia crossed her arms, bottle still clutched in her hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t really have much choice, do I?” Daryl probed the back of his neck with his fingers, as if trying to locate the tiny RFID tag. “I told your mama I’d see to it you didn’t want for anything. I intend to keep that promise.” He grimaced and poked at his neck. “If I could just cut the damn thing out, I would, but the scar’d give it away.”

He had a point. She gave in. “Okay, fine. We do it your way.”

“Course we do,” Daryl grinned. “You’re stuck with doin’ it my way. Sucks to be you, don’t it?”

“Actually, it sucks to be me.” T-Dog chimed in. “LIstening to you two gives me a headache. And a stomach ache. Ain’t you two skinny crackers hungry?”

For just a second, Daryl had his mouth open like he was going to argue. Then, in an abrupt burst of aggressive energy, he grabbed the bottle from Sophia again, slugged the dregs, and pitched it hard into the ocean.

“Hell yeah we are, if you’re cookin’,” he said. 

Sophia rolled her eyes. They could talk about the rest of it after dinner.

 

***

 

_T-Dog_

Shep had contacts. Theodore would give him that. If anyone could help them with Daryl’s little tag problem, it was this tech pirate out in the swamps on the Banana River. Kind of a sketch locale, yeah, and still known to harbor the odd walker or two, but at least it was accessible.

It was not, however, cheap. 

“You have to quit asking me to do this, _querido_ ,” Zoe said to him, setting the duffle bag on the table. She peeled off her faded lab coat. “FEMA admin’s getting a lot more careful about keeping track.”

Theodore unzipped the bag. “This is what this guy wanted to be paid with.” He pulled out a blisterpack of pills. “Metformin? What’s that? Pain meds?”

Zoe shook her head, her glossy black ponytail bobbing back and forth. “It’s a medication for diabetes.”

Daryl reached past Theodore and pulled out another box. “So what’s this one, then?”

“Another diabetes drug, often used with the other one.” She pulled a third box out of the bag. “And this one is for high blood pressure.”

“The hell,” Daryl said. “This shit ain’t got street value.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You sure you got the right junk?”

Theodore tensed. This wouldn’t be the first time Zoe and Daryl scrapped over something. He had to be sure he could grab her quickly if Daryl started tossing his usual descriptive terms around, or she’d try to stick a knife in him again, and refuse to stitch him up afterward.

“Actually, it does have street value, and yes, I’m sure I got the right medications - it was lucky we even had them. FEMA’s overdue on our drug drop.” Zoe twitched a piece of paper out of the pocket of her tight jeans. “These are generic versions of the drugs you wrote down.” She held the paper out to Daryl. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

“Whatever.” Daryl ignored the paper and replaced the boxes. “T, kiss your little girlfriend goodnight and let’s get this over with.”

Zoe wasn’t having it. She pushed past Theodore and got between Daryl and the bag. “Oh, no, you don’t. You got my drugs and my man? Then you got me too.” 

Daryl made a rude noise, and Theodore cringed, because it was going to get ugly. “The hell I do. Already got one little girl to contend with on this run, don’t need another one who don’t even speak good English.”

At this, the room erupted as Zoe started cursing Daryl out in Spanish, Daryl started giving it back to her in equally colorful English, and Sophia started protesting about being branded a little girl and thus unable to handle herself. 

Theodore tried to make placating noises and figure out how to make his hands be in three or four places at once to keep them all from injuring each other. Finally he put two fingers in his mouth and gave the loudest whistle he could.

It was enough to shock them all more or less quiet. “Listen! We’re burnin’ daylight here, and I don’t know about you three, but I don’t relish a trip out to the swamps in the dark.”

Zoe was muttering _puta_ this and _culo_ that, while Daryl kept warning her to watch herself because he knew damn well what she was saying. Considering they were swear words, Theodore imagined he did - Daryl wasn’t as good with the language as Sophia or himself, but he knew his way around telling somebody off. Sophia was alternately telling Daryl to shut up, and reminding everyone that Theodore was right, it was going to get dark soon, so shouldn’t they get _moving_ already?

Theodore wasn’t sure how it happened, but they all armed themselves and piled into the truck. Sophia normally complained about having to take the jump seat, but she kept her mouth shut, so he made a mental note to thank her later. It was hard enough to manage to help Zoe balance over the stick shift and keep her from slapping Daryl every time he went to change gears and accidentally brushed against her thigh.

He was going to need a stiff drink when this was all over.

Finally, everyone quieted down as they turned off Highway 1 and he had to start paying attention to the directions Shep had provided.

“Damn, this really is the boonies out here,” Theodore mused. “Turn into that gravel lane up there, on the right.” The gravel lane turned rapidly muddy, and fetid marshland soon closed in around them, filled with all manner of buzzing insects and who knew what else. They passed a few ramshackle houses until Theodore pointed. “That one, the yellow one there.”

Daryl took a few minutes to park, angling the truck so they could make a swift getaway if it became necessary. Theodore turned to find Sophia rapidly texting. “You letting him know we’re here?”

“Yeah. We’re supposed to wait until I get an answer before going to the door.” She held up the phone. “I’ve barely got a signal out here. I hope he gets the text.”

Fortunately it didn’t take long. Sophia barely had time to crawl out of the truck before the phone chimed an answer. When she looked up from reading it, her eyes were wary.

“He says we all need to get out and he’ll provide instructions once we do it.”

Theodore exchanged a look with Daryl, who nodded. They got out. Zoe carried the bag.

A floodlight glared out at them, so bright Theodore could barely see the front of the house. The phone chimed again, and Sophia shielded her eyes to see it. “He wants to see what we’re carrying.” 

At this point Daryl was obviously out of patience, because he yelled, “We’re all carrying, and we ain’t leaving ‘em in the truck if that’s your next suggestion. Cut out the Simon Sez bullshit and let’s go!” 

Theodore groaned, but he couldn’t really disagree. He just would have worded it more diplomatically.

Sophia looked worried. “I told him we have payment, and he wants to see it.”

“There’s gotta be a camera on us,” Theodore added. He turned to Zoe. “Gimme the bag.”

She did as he’d asked, eyes huge. He knew she’d been in countless dangerous situations, but this was the first time it had been because of him, and he wanted to kick himself for letting her come.

He walked a few steps forward. “He says stop,” Sophia called.

Yeah, the ordering-around was really getting old. Theodore dropped the bag, unzipped it, and pulled out a couple of the boxes, holding them up into the light. “Blood pressure and diabetes meds, just like you asked for, man. Now let us in so we can get this over with!”

There was a longer pause than before, and Theodore worried he’d scotched the deal, but the phone chimed again. “He wants to know who has the tag.”

Daryl leaned over and spit. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” He raised his hand. “Me.”

As soon as an answering text came, Sophia’s head snapped up. “Forget it!” she yelled. “He’s not coming in there alone!” 

“Shut _up_ , kid!”

“We should do what he says!”

Sophia took a couple of steps forward. She picked up the bag of meds and walked to the rusty iron grillework that protected the front door.

“Fuck!” Daryl had his gun out, and Theodore shoved Zoe behind him as he drew his. They both stood motionless, sights on the door, as Sophia rang the bell.

About thirty seconds later, the inside door opened. Theodore and Daryl both hollered for Sophia to get down.

She didn’t. Theodore couldn’t see who, or what, had opened the door, but after a few seconds he heard a voice. 

“Well. You ruined the nice little standoff we had going here.” It was a woman, and she sounded as much amused as anything. “But, I have a lot of work to do tonight, so you may as well all come in.”

“This is really creepy,” Zoe said from behind him. Theodore agreed, but he followed Daryl to the door. 

Inside it was dim and smelled of brackish, stale air, day-old cooking, and something faintly like...perfume? Theodore tentatively took a sniff. Old-lady perfume, for that matter.

“Like I said, you can all come in, but your guns stay in here.” The speaker turned to Daryl, as if anticipating his immediate resistance. “I’m not kidding. Either you drop them, or you leave, without the bag and _with_ your tag still operational. Your choice. Make it now.”

There was a loud click, and suddenly things came into focus. Sophia stood motionless, with a gun to her head. It was still hard to see the person holding the gun. “Um, guys?” Sophia’s voice was steady. 

There really wasn’t any option. Theodore handed his pistol over, and glared at Daryl until he swore and did the same.

“You carrying too?” The woman asked Sophia pleasantly, as though she weren’t holding what appeared to be a very large and businesslike .45 revolver to Sophia’s temple. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, hand it over...oh, wait.” The woman took the bag so Sophia could comply. 

Suddenly the perfumey smell Theodore had noticed earlier got stronger. 

The woman’s voice took on an edge. “Nana. I told you to wait in your bedroom until I said it was okay.” 

“Sweetie, I know you like it dark, but your grandfather will trip over something, and if he falls again I don’t think I can deal with that.” The speaker switched on a lamp, bathing the room in a dull yellow glow. “Oh...I didn’t know you’d be having friends over.” A little old lady, the source of the perfume, stood there in a shabby old cardigan, looking expectantly at them. “Trixie?”

“Nana. Take the bag and go back in the bedroom with Grandpa. Please.”

Theodore took a long look at the young woman who’d been so courteously disarming them for the past few minutes. Honestly, he stared.

And of course, Daryl did more than that. “What the hell died on your head, lady?”

Theodore rubbed his eyes. “That’s a wig, Daryl.” A green one. Vivid, poisonous green piled in tendrils high on her head, with a few artfully draping down to her shoulders.

“Not a wig, actually,” the woman said, cheery, as if she heard this all the time. “It’s dye. My own formulation.”

Sophia turned to her. “I apologize for my friends. Your hair is really pretty. I love that color, and it’s beautiful with your skin.” 

“Thanks.” The green-haired woman had handed off the bag to the old lady, and took possession of Sophia’s gun.

Of course, if he was fazed by any of this, Daryl was powering through it. “Can we get on with this? We’re here to do business, not talk about your weave. Where’s this Toxiclollipop dude?”

 _Green hair_. Something clicked in Theodore’s head right as he felt Zoe poke him in the side. _Shiiiiit_. “Daryl-” he started. 

Green Hair tucked her own gun away. “That would be me,” she said with a wink. Theodore was guessing at a neatly stashed secret holster, one she could have it out of in a nanosecond. 

She held out her hand to Daryl. “I’m not a dude, in case you were curious.”

Daryl stared at her hand for a minute before taking it. “Thanks for the, uh, info.”

Theodore rolled his eyes. He held out his hand as well. “I’m T-Dog, and the ladies are Zoe and Sophia,” he nodded at both of them as they each gave a wan little hand-wave. “And yes, he’s your client. That’s Daryl.”

Toxiclollipop smiled. “Well. Since we’re all being so mannerly, I’m Trixie.” She finally turned towards the old woman, who had faded into the background. “And this is my Nana, Lois Potrero.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Nana said. “If I’d known Trixie was having guests, I’d have baked!” She made a little frown at her granddaughter. “You should have told me.”

Theodore saw Sophia raise her eyebrows, and knew what she was thinking - who could even get sugar, or butter, or any of the other things people baked with? Canned food was a luxury. Dairy products were still unheard-of, unless you had a cow, and everybody they knew was strapped enough feeding themselves. 

“Nana, that’s nice, but you know I need the kitchen for this. How about you go back and play cards with Grandpa? He’s probably wondering where you went.” Trixie over-enunciated, and spoke loudly, and Theodore realized the woman was probably very hard of hearing. And if the bag of meds were any indication, that was the least of her and her husband’s problems.

Nana decided to shuffle off at this point, but not before giving Sophia a friendly squeeze on the arm before she left. Sophia, a little wild-eyed, turned to Trixie. “So you can really deactivate his tracker tag?”

Trixie nodded. “Absolutely. If you’ll all just step into my workshop...otherwise known as the room where Nana thinks she bakes cookies all day, we can get this dialed for you.”

“Does your grandmother...” Zoe spoke hesitantly, and Theodore looked over at her. “Does she have dementia?”

“Seems to run in the family,” Daryl added, more or less under his breath, but loud enough for Sophia to mouth _Shut up NOW_ at him. 

Fortunately, Trixie either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. “Oh, probably. The evenings are worse for her. She forgets a lot of things. Sometimes she thinks I’m her sister, which is always amusing.”

Zoe pursed her lips. “I wish I had known. There are other meds that would have been helpful for her.”

“Good to know, in case we ever have cause to do business again.” They came into a small, cluttered kitchen. Trixie pulled a chair out from the formica table. She gave Daryl a gentle push. “Have a seat.” He looked a little uneasy, but he did it. “The rest of you just give me a little room to work.”

“What are you going to do?” Sophia edged back in immediately, and Theodore put a hand on her shoulder. He could feel Zoe digging her fingers into his arm. Apparently they were all a little on edge.

“Yeah. Why don’t you run us through the procedure, first?” Theodore added.

Trixie clicked open the latches to open a metal toolbox that sat on the table. “Really, you all didn’t research this before you came out here? That’s very...trusting of you.”

“We’re kind of under a deadline,” Sophia said. “Or we would have.”

“Well.” Trixie withdrew a few items from the tool box and laid them out on the table. One looked a little bit like a laser pointer, and the other looked like a cross between a cordless drill and a gun from _The Terminator_. 

“You all know what an EMP is, right? An electromagnetic pulse?”

They nodded, and Daryl made a little circular motion with his hand, like _get on with it already_. “Yeah, like from nuclear bombs. We know. Can we just-”

“Let her explain.” Zoe was the one who stopped him. “I want to hear this.”

Trixie hefted the gun-drill thing. “This is a pulse gun. It uses the charge from the battery to deliver a targeted EMP to a very small area, roughly the size of, oh...” she looked around, and took Sophia’s hand. “Your pinkie nail.” Everyone looked at Sophia’s hand. “It takes only a slight charge from the battery to do it, and it’s a small pulse, which is what we want. Older versions of the pulse gun were really...clunky, for lack of a better word. No targeting ability. The EMP moved air with such force that it knocked a hole in whatever was in its way.” 

“So you could potentially injure him, is what you’re saying.” Zoe crossed her arms, and gave Theodore a look that warned him to never speak of her protectiveness of Daryl again. Particularly to him.

Trixie chewed her lip as she fiddled with the wires. “Are you a doctor?”

“I’m a physician’s assistant.” 

Trixie made a satisfied little sound as she flipped a switch. “There, all set.” She stood up. “Okay. I’ll be straight with you. It’s a little bit different with everybody. Most people say they feel something, but they can’t really say what. Some experience some memory loss, like they don’t remember what they had for breakfast - nothing major. Others have a little bit of double vision, or headache.”

Zoe looked at Theodore, and he shrugged. “What else?”

At this, Trixie addressed Daryl again. “Have you ever had a head or spinal cord injury?” She counted off on her fingers, and Theodore wondered if she had colored her nails with markers. “Epilepsy, brain tumor, stroke, or unexplained blackout periods?” 

“No.”

She turned to Zoe, Theodore and Sophia. “I’m satisfied. He should be fine.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Please. Before I die of old age.”

Trixie put on a pair of thick-rimmed nerd glasses and picked up the laser pointer thing. “Okay, then.” She stood behind him and put her fingers on the back of his neck. “I’m going to use this radio frequency reader to locate your tag. Whoever put it in didn’t leave a scar, so-” she bent his head forward a bit and pressed the pointer against his skin.

T-Dog could feel Zoe and Sophia pressed up tight against him again as they all leaned closer to watch. 

Trixie stopped. “I really need to concentrate, and I’m feeling a little crowded, here.” She gave them a meaningful look.

Sophia frowned, and then nudged Zoe. Theodore got what she was going for, and nodded.

Zoe cleared her throat. “I’d like to...assist, if I could. Or at least be nearby.”

Trixie looked at Theodore and Sophia, who got the hint and retreated to a corner of the kitchen, well out of the way. Then she nodded at Zoe. “Were you there when his tag was put in?”

“No. But I work at the same medical center. We usually do them up higher, just to the right of the spine.” Zoe leaned over Daryl, and joined Trixie in poking his neck. “Around here, should be.”

“Perfect, got it. Hand me that pen.” Trixie made a mark, and then put the reader down. She looked at Zoe. “Can you hold his head still for me?”

“I can hold my own head still.”

Trixie patted Daryl absently as she unhooked and checked the settings on her pulse gun. “Actually, you’re a pretty fidgety guy. So humor me and let her hold you.”

Theodore expected more grumbling, but Daryl silently let Zoe get right up in his space and take his head between her hands.

Trixie stood behind him with the gun. “Okay, I want you to take a deep breath and hold it.”

Theodore felt Sophia take one too as he saw Daryl do it. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Relax. It’ll be fine,” he said quietly.

Trixie settled the narrow muzzle of the pulse gun against the mark she’d made on Daryl’s neck. “Exhale while I count three, and I’ll hit it on three.”

“One. Two. _Three_.” All they heard was a slight, staticky _blip_. It almost wasn’t a sound, but more of a sensation.

“Daryl?” Zoe bent down to look him in the face. 

“Pancakes.” It was a little slurry, more like _pancakesshh_ , but nobody really noticed that as Daryl’s head lolled forward into Zoe’s hands. His eyes closed and he went limp as a wet noodle.

“What the hell! Is that supposed to happen?” Sophia pushed Theodore’s hands away as Zoe and Trixie rolled Daryl onto the floor. “Daryl! You okay?” She turned to Theodore, her eyes huge and worried.

He was starting to worry a little himself - nobody had said this was supposed to happen. Zoe was bent over Daryl, thumbing up his eyelids and checking his pulse. When she straightened, the front of her shirt had blood on it, and suddenly, horribly, Theodore thought shit had gone wrong, so very, very wrong.

“It knocked him out for a second,” she said. “He’s coming around.”

Trixie sat back on her knees and pushed her glasses up on her head. She blew a green strand of hair out of her face. “Wow. That was a new one for me.” She grinned down at Daryl, whose eyes were now open again. “You’re kind of a delicate flower, aren’t you, bud?” 

Sophia held onto Theodore’s arm as they leaned closer.

Daryl slurred. “Th’ fuck. ‘M mouf hurts.”

“You bit your tongue,” Zoe said to him, wiping bloody drool off his face with the edge of her shirt. 

Trixie stood up. “See? Pretty minor, really.”

Sophia let go of Thedore’s arm and moved in. “You could’ve killed him!” She was almost nose to nose with Trixie, and from the position of her hand she was about ready to go for the knife in her boot, which was not a weapon she had disclosed at the door. “Bitch, I’m gonna-”

Theodore grabbed Sophia by the back of her shorts. “Whoa, Scarface. You gonna relax, like I told you to. Nobody’s killed.” He didn’t say anything about the inadvisability of bringing a knife to a gunfight, as Trixie had that .44 still on her person somewhere. 

Still speaking to Sophia, Theodore shot a dark look at Trixie. “She did warn us that there would be side effects.”

Trixie put up her hands peaceably, and backed up a couple of steps. “I did. And I’ve never seen a reaction like that, so I wasn’t prepared for it either. I apologize.” She looked down at Daryl again. 

Zoe was starting to prop him up into a sitting position, and he was poking around in his mouth with a finger. “Shit. Bit right through.”

By now Sophia had gotten down on her knees on his other side, gingerly patting him as though she was afraid he might slump over again. 

“Let’s try to get him up,” Zoe suggested. “I want to see if he has gross motor control.”

Between Zoe, Sophia and Theodore, they got Daryl upright. He swayed a little, but he stayed standing.

By now Nana had appeared again and was watching the scene anxiously. “Trixie? Did you offer them cookies?”

“I sure did, Nana. The man over there isn’t feeling well, so I need to finish him up and send them all on their way.” Trixie held up the RFID reader. “I need to check and see if it worked.”

Sophia made a disgusted sound. “Like after all that, it might _not_ have?”

Trixie remained serene. “I highly doubt it. But this is my quality control check.” She got behind Daryl again, and put the reader against his neck.

“Your quality sucks dick, in my opinion.” Sophia had a sneer on her face that would have looked more at home on Daryl. It still surprised Theodore how many of his mannerisms she had picked up over the last few years. He’d have to remind her this one was particularly unattractive.

Trixie withdrew the reader, and smiled again. “Well. I’m not registering anything, so I think this concludes our business.” She looked at all of them again, and her eyes came to rest on Zoe, who was sitting at the table with Nana. Talking to her, nodding, and holding her hand.

Trixie sighed. “Okay. This was a highly unusual transaction, and I’m aware that you’re not entirely satisfied.”

“So you’re giving the payment back?”

She laughed. “Oh honey, no. I just meant that if it really didn’t deactivate the tag, come back and I’ll redo the job for free.”

Sophia snorted. She was trying to help Daryl walk, and he was trying, unsuccessfully, to push her away. “No, thanks.”

Trixie shrugged. “Well, my work here is done, then. I’ll return your guns to you on your way out.”

Theodore turned to collect Zoe, and saw Nana pressing a bag of something into Zoe’s hands. “Cookies. For the road!” Her eyes sparkled out of their web of fine wrinkles.

As Trixie handed over their guns and ushered them out her front door, she leaned towards Theodore one last time. “As for the cookies,” she whispered, glancing at Nana waving behind her. “I have no idea what she made those with. Proceed with caution.”

Theodore watched Zoe and Sophia help Daryl into the truck. “Thanks for the warning,” he said.

 

***

 

_Daryl_

They had to put off leaving for Jasper for an extra day.

Daryl had done everything he could to hide the side effects. When he felt that weird spinny feeling coming on, he made a point to fetch up against something, anything - the wall, the truck. T-Dog, once, which was hard to explain and he tried to turn it into a joke and a shove. But T kept watching him, and later, when Sophia was out somewhere, T-Dog and Zoe cornered him.

"Somethin's up, babe. What's wrong with him?"

Zoe made him sit and she shined a little penlight into one of his eyes, then the other. "Pupils react normally. But he acts like he's having dizzy spells."

"I'm right here, so, you could ask me or somethin'."

Zoe made one of those I'm-so-much-smarter-than-you faces. "Okay. Are you having dizzy spells?"

"No."

"So you've always walked like you're about to tip over?"

"Nothin' wrong with the way I walk. When did you become a doctor?" Daryl looked around for something to throw her off. "Had a few drinks. Shep's stuff fucks me up a little."

"Mm-hm." Zoe looked at T-Dog. " _Está lleno de mierda._ " 

Daryl pushed her hand away. He stood up and had to swallow the sudden nausea like tepid backwash. "Call bullshit on me all you want, but I'm fine."

Ignoring it wasn't making it go away, so he called in a favor and came back from Angel's with a dime bag. He rolled a modest joint to test the theory, that maybe it might take the edge off the nausea and dizziness.

He was smoking it on the steps under the house when Sophia came stomping home. 

"If you're feeling a lecture comin' on, I ain't interested right now."

She leaned against a pillar. "If I had a lecture, it would be about where to get decent weed. That smells like ass."

Daryl rubbed his eyes. It did; Angel's reefer had really fallen off in quality. "Because I suppose you know where to get it?"

She pushed off and came over to sit next to him on the steps. "I got it for mom for awhile. While it still helped."

"Well ain't you just Florence fucking Nightingale." The words came out tight as he held in smoke, and when she hadn't replied by the time he exhaled, he realized it had been kind of a dick thing to say. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "S'okay." Loose hair slid over one eye as she looked sidelong at him. "So what's up? Haven't seen you do anything like that in a long time."

"Maybe I'm good at hidin' it."

She actually laughed at that. "Daryl. You aren't good at hiding _anything_ , okay? You're not that emotionally complex." 

"Wasn't talkin' about complexity, I was talkin' about stealth."

"Well, that either. So 'fess up. You're still having side effects, aren't you?"

This time it was his turn to shrug. "Just some weird stuff. It's nothin'."

"T and Zoe don't think it's nothing."

"Well, I'm not takin' a survey, okay?" So, his attempt at having a little peace was ruined. He pinched off the cherry and stashed the roach away. "I'll be fine. We're leaving in the morning, as planned."

She shifted next to him. "I worry about you is all."

"Don't get yourself all upset about it." Worried Sophia was distracted Sophia, and that would be something for _him_ to worry about. “Where were you comin’ from, just now?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I do have friends, you know.”

Friends. A few skinny hood rats, none of them would be worth two bits in a fight. Not to mention she was head and shoulders better than every single one. “You shouldn’t be walkin’ around during a blackout.” The power outages had been more common recently, which meant a gas shortage was next. 

Like most people, they had a gas genny for the house, but the streets were darker than ink. He got ready to argue with her when she started in with the inevitable I-can-handle-myself bullshit.

Sophia just shrugged. “I wasn’t by myself. Eddie walked me home.”

Daryl ran through the mental images he had of the kids Sophia sometimes hung with and came up blank. “He that kid who works on the shrimp boats?”

She was twisting strands of hair around her finger - not a gesture that would normally ping his radar, but in this case...he was going to have to ask around and find out who this Eddie dude was.

She shook her head. “No, he works at CBMC. Zoe introduced us.” She gave him a bland look. “We’re friends. And to answer the next thing you ask that’s not your business, he’s 21.”

“Fine, fine, don’t get your panties all in a wad over it, good lord.” On to more important topics. "You got the equipment checks done?"

"All done. I went over them with T earlier. You want a recap?"

He didn't, really, but he let her go through it anyhow. This was one of her strengths - she had turned into an organization Nazi. He wasn't even really listening, until he heard her finish with the words _locked and loaded_. 

"Hope you don't think you're gonna be all Rambo-in' it up out there. You're backup. And probably not even that."

She bobbed up off the step and tossed her hair back. "Oh, I know. Backup." She smiled.

Which meant she no doubt expected to charm or badger him into field operations once they got to the job site. He glared at her, and she just smiled wider.

"I'm going to bed. You probably should too, try to get a good night’s sleep." Then she actually - oh, now he knew she was full of shit - patted him on the shoulder. "And, for the record, it'd be Ripley. Not Rambo.“ 

"Whatever."

" 'Night, boss."

"Don't call me that."

He could hear her laughing as she went upstairs.

By the time he followed, she had apparently turned in. Hungry, he foraged in the fridge. It was mostly empty, except for something T-Dog called _fufu_ , which he wasn't even going to touch with somebody else's mouth, and some beans and rice, which was pretty much same shit, different day, so he ate it cold. He did have second thoughts about the Coke - he'd catch hell from Sophia because she hoarded the stuff whenever she could get her little mitts on it, but it was the only thing to drink besides water, so. He'd make it up to her later.

He didn't expect to fall asleep so quickly, but he was out before he even got through the usual visual check of the weapons he had stashed around the room.

And he opens his eyes in daylight. In spite of the drizzly, cool days they've been having, sun is streaming through the blinds. Shit. So much for leaving at daybreak.

He's out of the room and looking around, and the first thing that draws his eye is Sophia's closed bedroom door, and the garish splatters of dark blood all around it. On the walls, on the ceiling. 

He hasn't used his bow in months, but it's in his hand, the familiar weight of it. 

The door opens, long fingers and a blood-caked arm. It's a guy, a kid really. Ratty hair and bloodstained mouth, gooey flesh seeping gore through the CBMC scrubs he's wearing. 

So this is Eddie. Daryl doesn't hesitate - he shoots him in the head. His heart is hammering like he barely remembers it ever doing before. Once when he ran from Carol's deathbed. Once when he ran from someone else. 

And there's another figure in that doorway. Slender, without the awkward angles of childhood - when did those show up, the curves of lean thighs, barely skimmed by one of those old band t-shirts she likes. _Cheap Trick_. She fills it out, and when did that happen? 

Hollow cheeks, yellow eyes, flesh peeling away from the bone. He can't look away. She's right in front of him, and she puts a hand on him and pulls him closer.

 _"Mom says to tell you hi,"_ she wheezes, and then all he sees are rotten gray gums and bloody teeth.

"No!" He woke up sitting bolt-upright, drenched in sweat. The only thing that remained of the dream was the pounding of his heart, and he gulped air. The room was still dark, but from the sawdusty taste of his mouth, he'd been asleep awhile. Dreaming. Man, fuck that, and fuck Angel and his dirt weed.

Just for the hell of it, he hauled the bow out from under the bed before leaving the room.

"Really?” Sophia asked when he came into the kitchen, eyeballing him. "Rough night?"

"Somethin' like that."

"You drank my Coke, jerk. Do you know how rare those are?"

"Tasted kind of off, actually." He grabbed a bottle of water off the counter and chugged. "We'll find more."

"We better." She was staring at him now, and he put the bow down. "T should be back from Zoe's soon, and we can get going."

"Good." He banged around in empty cabinets. No aspirin or anything in the place, Christ. He stared back at her, and made himself really _look_.

When she had disappeared, gone like the wind five years ago, she was this tiny thing, all big eyes and freckles and bones like a bird.

When they found her again almost a year later, totally by freak accident, she'd gained a couple of inches and those bones stuck out every which way, like her skeleton had grown but the rest of her didn't have the energy to keep up.

After that, he'd seen her every day, so he hadn't noticed that getting enough food had not only topped her out taller than her mother, it had finished off the job puberty had started. She still had the freckles and big eyes. She'd also grown a pair of tits and spread out in the butt. And on top of that, some mysterious activity had cut her shoulders and arms into wiry muscle. The end of a dishwater blond braid hung over one shoulder, and she tugged on it. Nervous habit, and it brought back the little girl, just for a second. 

It hit him that they’d managed to keep her safe, long enough for her to grow up, mostly.

T-Dog chose that moment to holler up the stairs at them.

"Thought you two wanted to be on the road by now! You up? Let's go!"

Sophia grabbed the jugs of water and took off down the stairs. "I'll go help T load up.” Then she left one of the bottles on the stairs. “The water’s off again, so use this to clean up a little. I don’t wanna ride with you smelling like you do!" She was gone with the slam of the door, and the sound of her chattering at T-Dog wafted back up to him.

Not a little girl anymore, but he still had to keep her safe as long as he could.

 

*

 

"I still say this would work a lot better with me on the bike." Sophia had the binoculars glued to her face, scanning the highway ahead. 

"So somebody could pick you off as you went by? You're right, that'd be a great warning." The dirtbike was staying right where it was for the time being, in the back of the truck with the gas cans.

She dropped the binoculars enough to give him a disgusted look. "Like that'd happen. We haven't seen a single sign of all the scary I-75 bandits you seem to think are everywhere." She shifted and then let out a loud burp before putting the lenses back to her face.

Damn T-Dog for bringing her a bottle of that nasty homemade ginger soda to replace her stolen Coke. She had fawned over him like it had been a diamond or something, and now Daryl was going to have to listen to her get rude as all hell for the whole drive.

One of the walkies squelched. "What's goin' on up there?” T-Dog asked. He was behind the truck in the old Jeep, hauling the rest of their gear.

Daryl picked his up. "Same thing you got goin' on back there, 'cept I'm stuck with what amounts to a hundred-twenty pound colicky baby." He hit the button so they could listen to T-Dog laugh, and Sophia stuck her tongue out at him. He clicked on again. "T, tell her some of the shit you've heard about what goes down along 75. She thinks I'm blowin' sunshine." He held out the walkie and let T-Dog launch into his best horror stories about ambushes, samaritan-decoys, and the rapes, murder and mayhem that would follow.

"Best case scenario, they just jack all your gear and leave you out here as walker chum."

Sophia looked over at Daryl. "You really think there are that many walkers out here anymore? I thought the Feds napalmed a couple of years ago."

He shrugged. They had, but that was Orlando and Ocala and Gainesville, not the territory between. With the 200-mile stretch of I-75 north of Cocoa not under Federal Zone jurisdiction, bandits were the primary hazard, but sure as hell not the only one. "I think if we got out and started shooting, we'd have enough for a little target practice pretty quick."

She got quiet, rolling that thought around a bit. He hadn't really considered it, that the Jasper job was going to be her first exposure to actual walker threat in some time. Cocoa wasn't perfect, but at least you didn’t have to fear for your life from moment to moment. 

Now she was going to be in smack dab in harm's way, and he was the one putting her there. Well. All the more reason for him and T-Dog to make sure they got things under control as quickly as possible on this job.

Their first and only stop was the Fed Zone checkpoint at White Springs, which amounted to a temp trailer in the median and a few guys in green uniforms with _way_ too much time on their hands. 

Daryl slowed down as the uniforms spotted them and waved them forward. This was a potentially sticky situation. None of them had been inside a Federal Zone since, well. Ever. Both Daryl's and T-Dog's last existing piece of identification was a long-expired Georgia driver's license. Georgia didn't _exist_ anymore, at least not in a form that generated state identification. And with them being on the move for over a year after the start of the plague, ending up in South Florida where the only federal presence was the FEMA med center, (and the staff no longer bothered asking anyone for ID), they’d never needed any.

He turned to Sophia. "So Calley took care of all of this already?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He said he knows the checkpoint security guys, and would give them the heads-up to look out for us. We’re supposed to let them look through the vehicles, submit to the blood test, and then they’ll wave us right through.”

The blood test was never the problem - all it did was look for virus antibodies to prove you’d had your shots. You still had to pass through some sort of RFID scan-field to see if you had a carrier tag or not.

Sophia was still looking at him as he watched the fed approach. "Let me do the talking," she said.

Daryl felt like he should refuse, like this was just another step down that slippery slope towards the clutching, bleeding things in his nightmares. But the Fed had already told them to turn off the vehicles, get out and hand over the keys.

“Got any firearms to declare?” The guy looked from Daryl to Sophia, and then over to his counterpart who was taking T-Dog’s keys.

“Oh, absolutely.” Sophia gave him a winning smile. “Other than what we’re each carrying, it’s all back here.” She walked him around to the back of the jeep.

One of the other flunkies showed up with a clipboard so they could list all the guns, and another one started going through the cab of the truck.

Fed Number One was still a little dazzled by Sophia’s smiling, bouncing blond girl act. More used to the less-charming side of her personality, Daryl was a little thrown by it himself.

“What brings you all to FZ21?” the Fed asked her. “We don’t get too many people passing through from the south. Kind of dangerous travel for most folk.”

“We’re here for a job. Cleaning walkers off Mitchell Calley’s ranch.” She pointed at the side of the truck, and suddenly Daryl was glad T-Dog had taken the time to stencil the letters on the door. Didn't mean he was going to apologize for bitching about it, but still.

“Oh! You’re DDP?” The guy waved his counterpart over. “This is the outfit Mr. Calley called about earlier. Let’s get ‘em their blood tests so they can get going.”

Sophia shot a covert thumbs-up at T-Dog, and gave her braid a flip as she walked over to the Fed with the test kit. "Which finger do you want?"

T-Dog had sidled back over to Daryl while they waited for the Feds to finish cataloguing the guns. "Is it me, or is she pouring it on a little thick?"

Daryl snorted. "If all she had to do was wiggle her ass to get us through here, and I didn't have to go through all that tag-deactivation bullshit, I'm gonna be pissed." 

Sophia now had the attention of all three Feds, because apparently her blood test was a very labor-intensive thing. T-Dog shook his head slowly, watching. "Girl grew up when you weren't payin' attention, didn't she?"

Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn't need the reminder. "You know anything about this Eddie guy she's been hangin' with? Said Zoe introduced them."

T-Dog nodded. "Yeah. Nice kid. Came in one day about a year ago with his dad. Some kind of accident - the dad didn't make it, and Eddie never left. Started out doing odd jobs around the med, and now they're sort of training him to be a nurse." T-Dog immediately caught Daryl's expression. "And that's all you're gettin' from me. You want more, ask her."

T-Dog was next. Daryl watched as the Fed unwrapped another sterile needle and loaded it into the handheld machine before pricking T-Dog's finger. Not ten seconds later, he got some sort of readout on the device, and nodded. "You're clear."

"That was fast - somebody told us you guys look for carrier tags," Sophia said conversationally. Daryl shot her a look. _Shut up_.

The Fed who was discarding the used needle and loading in another one laughed. "Oh, that's already done." He held up the testing device. "We used to have a separate unit, but the RFID reader is right in here too. Totally non-invasive." He waved Daryl forward. "It's pretty sweet technology, if you're into that sort of thing."

Daryl gave the guy his hand, and felt the quick stab to his index finger. Rather, he barely felt it, because that spot at the base of his skull throbbed instead. He swallowed. What would they do, really, even if the tag registered? No way they were wasting precious detention space for something like that. He just wouldn't be able to enter Zone 21. No big deal.

All of those stories Zoe kept telling them about, how in the Federal Zones they were cracking down harder on violations - those had to be just gossip. Rumors. They weren’t in any actual danger.

"Hey, Ray!" The Fed's loud voice right next to his ear made him jump. Shit. 

"This thing is screwing up on me again. It starts processing, and then the display goes all funny and won't reset."

It took about a year for the other Fed to stop trying to chat up Sophia and walk back over. "Probably the batteries."

"Grab me a set, would you?"

"Yeah. And re-run his test, just to be sure."

Daryl watched as the fucking butterfingers fumbled around replacing the batteries. "Sweet technology," he said, as he let them test him again.

The Fed watched his device, and then shrugged. "Normally it's fine." He frowned, and squinted at the little LCD screen.

Then he looked up and nodded. "You're clear." 

Daryl felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as they walked back to the vehicles, but managed to haul himself into the driver's seat without a tell-tale weave to his step.

He sat for a few seconds with his hands on the wheel. _Shake it off, Jesus. Start the damn truck._

"Daryl?" Sophia was looking at him. "T's waiting for us. Let's go."

He started the truck and pulled back out into the road. The Fed was gesturing for him to roll down the window, so he did. "You've got about ten more miles to the route 41 exit. Take it all the way to Jasper. You can't miss Calley's place." 

Daryl nodded, and they went on through the checkpoint.

Sophia couldn't stay quiet, and let out a huge breath, stretching her arms over her head to press her hands against the headliner. "Geez. I got worried there, for a second." 

The dizziness increased for a few seconds, making the road ahead of them tilt. Then it eased off again.

"Don't worry 'til you have to, girl." Daryl hit the gas. "Don't do no good anyhow."

*

The mile-long driveway should've been enough to prepare them for the house, but it wasn't.

The radio crackled. "Look at it." T-Dog's voice was almost reverent. "Remember that show _Cribs_?"

Daryl sort of did, he might have seen it back in the day, during the rare times of being able to afford cable. Yeah, this house made him think of NASCAR drivers and Cy Young award winners and the world as it used to be. Not his world, but one he'd seen on TV.

Sophia looked over at him. "How could anybody still..." She just shook her head.

His lip twisted. "What, you expected a double-wide? All that big house means is I shoulda held out for a better payday." He let the truck roll to a stop next to a freestanding intercom box.

"You think that thing's even on?" Sophia leaned in to look at it. 

"That freaky tech chick in the swamps had a CC feed. You think this thing ain't powered?" Daryl poked the red button. 

Sure enough, after several seconds, a voice responded. "State your business, please."

Not exactly the welcome wagon. "DDP. Here to see Mitchell Calley."

Several more seconds passed. "You're expected. Please leave your vehicles and keys where they are, and come unarmed to the front door."

This again? Who expected anyone to go around unarmed? Sophia was shaking her head, so Daryl radioed T-Dog. "Wants us to leave our guns and our keys."

"Hell no, man."

"Exactly what I was thinkin'." He turned off the truck and nodded at Sophia. "You got room in the back of those pants to hide anything?" 

She rolled her eyes at him as she tucked her compact Ruger LCP into her waistband and pulled the hem of her tank top down over it. Daryl hated carrying concealed; actually, he hated carrying anything small enough to conceal, but if the situation called for it he could suck it up. He grabbed her other handgun, an M&P 9, and stashed it. It wasn’t his favorite, as handguns went, but at least it didn’t have a safety. Faster and easy to use.

“You ready?" he called over to T-Dog as they got out. 

"As ever."

"Let's go then." 

"Is this where you tell us you'll do the talking and we make bets about how long it's gonna take you to say something offensive to someone?" Sophia said from behind him on the wide front steps.

He rang the bell. "Who wins that bet if I say somethin' offensive to you first?"

Neither Sophia nor T-Dog had time to answer before the ornate, still-glossy wood doors swung open. A tall man in jeans and boots stood with a shotgun cradled in the crook of his arm. He hung back from the doorway so he could eyeball them the whole way in.

Daryl eyed him back. From the stone-floored entryway, the huge house felt empty and still, almost claustrophobic in spite of the massive beam ceilings. "You Calley?"

The guy stayed silent, looking at each one of them in turn. Daryl saw him linger on Sophia and clenched his jaw against the impulse to get between them. Would it have killed her to wear a different shirt?

The guy turned back to him. "You're all carrying, even though I asked you to leave your guns in the car."

Dammit. Daryl wracked his brain for a response that didn't sound rude or aggressive, because right now he was feeling a little of both. "Didn't hear you ask that."

"I check that intercom box every day. I know you heard me."

The need for another peaceable answer was interrupted by a different, more pleasant voice. "Now, Ricky. Mr. Dixon's just looking out for his people, same as we try to do."

A second man, dressed similarly to the first, walked through the huge entryway. His footsteps were loud, and Daryl couldn't help but look down. Alligator boots in black cherry. Yeah, should've asked for _way_ more. 

Mitchell Calley walked up to Daryl. He didn't appear to be carrying, himself, and he kept his hands hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, bracketing a big silver belt buckle. "I see you found the place all right."

Daryl nodded. "Your boys at the zone checkpoint saw to that."

He watched as Calley introduced himself to T-Dog, gracious as you please, and then Sophia, with a gentlemanly lift of her hand and some compliments. There was no doubt Mitchell Calley was a man used to persuasive talk, and used to people letting him talk it. Well, they were in his house, and he'd called off his guard, or whoever Ricky was. 

As if he’d read Daryl’s mind, Calley turned to him. "Ricky here is my son-in-law, and he's very protective. You can feel safe leaving your guns in his care while we talk."

Daryl didn't like it. He really, really didn't like it. But forcing the issue just seemed like a bad idea, and even he knew when to ease up a little. He slowly removed the M&P from his pants, and nodded for Sophia and T-Dog to follow suit. There was a hat rack in the entryway, with a low table below it, and Ricky had them simply lay their guns on the table. The effect was unmistakable. Anybody who came in was expected to have nice manners, and leave any hats and guns at the door. 

Calley gave a broad grin. "See? Didn't hurt a bit, did it?" He gestured to Ricky. "Let's show these folks some hospitality after their drive. Do we have anything to drink?"

Ricky looked pissed at being demoted from bodyguard to butler. "I can look."

Calley nodded. "Let's do that." He walked into the main part of the house. "If you'll all follow me, we can sit and go over some of the basics."

If the outside of the house had been impressive, the inside was jaw-dropping. Every single surface advertised the kind of wealth that wanted you to think it was too classy to be all in-your-face about it. Heavy, dark-polished woods, overstuffed furniture, leather. Huge chandeliers made of antlers and chairs draped in tricolor hides. Designs reminiscent of the Old West, if the Old West had been swanky as fuck.

It was the kind of house that probably required a whole staff of people to keep it running properly, and that was the only part that reminded him that he hadn't stepped into another world, one where the plague never existed. 

Then there were the reminders that it did. Lined up against one wall were rows of those big bottles of purified water. Surfaces in the kitchen were stacked with canned and packaged food items. Bookshelves against the wall had the books sorted into boxes on the floor, while the shelves were stacked with boxes marked “Antibiotics” and “Painkillers”.

Calley had them sit so they faced a set of huge windows that looked out onto a rambling yard of thick grass, leading to a quaint log house and a pond. "If you don't mind, I'd like to put the three of you up in the guest house, there. It has its own generator and water, and should have everything you need." He smiled down at Sophia. "I hope you can forgive me, the pool hasn't been operational for some time now. Couldn't justify keeping it, given the current situation."

They stared, silent. Calley's guest house was bigger than the house they currently occupied in Cocoa. Calley moved into Daryl's line of sight, and pointed. "And if you'll look down to the south, you'll see half of your fee parked there."

As they had agreed, there was a late-model Escalade ESV parked a little ways from the guest house. Daryl didn't even know all the specs on the thing - he'd asked for it almost as a joke, never thinking his new client had that sort of resources.

It had been equally surprising that Calley had gold, actual gold bullion coins, to cover the rest of their fee. But Daryl had stopped asking questions at that point. Who wouldn’t?

"Daryl? Um. _Daryl_?" Sophia's voice snapped him back to reality. He looked over at her. She was perched on the edge of a couch cushion, holding a glass of something - apparently Ricky had found drinks - and looking daggers at him. "We have some questions, right? About the layout of the property, areas of infestation, things like that?" Lord, he could practically hear her yelling at him inside her head.

"I'm sure you do, and rightfully so, young lady," Calley said to her, nodding. "I like to see that sort of meticulous attention to detail." He had walked around behind the couch, and leaned in to squeeze her bare shoulder. "This one's a keeper, isn't she?"

Daryl saw that muscle in her jaw twitch and shot a look at T-Dog, who was closer, to grab her if she went to do anything stupid. But before anything could happen, Calley straightened and spoke to Daryl again.

"Why don't you come with me to my office, Mr. Dixon? I'd appreciate a chance to finalize a couple of things, if we could."

Daryl was half inclined to reply that anything Calley had to say could be said in front of the rest of them. Then again, it might be good to hear what the man would say when he didn't have that friendly, country-uncle face on.

Daryl could feel Sophia's eyes on him, but he ignored her. She didn't get a say in this one. He looked at T-Dog, who was frowning, but finally nodded his agreement. 

Daryl got up. "Lead the way." He left Sophia fuming on the couch with T-Dog, under Ricky's watchful eye.

Calley's office was more of the same style, except that it practically smelled like testosterone. Heavy wood paneled walls, a case of books that looked like no one had ever touched them, and a rack of guns that looked like someone touched them every day. More antlers, this time on sightless, mounted heads.

"I thought we could have a more in-depth talk this way. Man to man."

Calley stood in front of the windows behind his desk, looking out over another view of his property. Same as in the living room, the windows had never even been covered with bars to protect from walker incursion. That level of careless arrogance spoke as loudly as the fancy house itself.

Daryl stood next to Calley. From that vantage point, he could see the horse barn and a few outbuildings in the middle distance, and beyond that, the rows and rows of surprisingly well-tended fruit trees.

"Speak your mind, son. I can tell you've got something on it."

Daryl turned to Calley. "Awful big place for just you and Ricky." 

Calley tilted his head. "Well. I've kept on a few men for security, and a couple of ranch hands." The sunlight made his eyes almost colorless as he looked at Daryl. "My wife, God rest her, was the horse-lover in the family. We've lost a few, but I still have most of them."

This bore out Daryl's suspicion that at least one unseen person had had a bead on them ever since they drove up. Maybe more than one. "So. You've got enough men on your place to have easily taken out the walker population five times over." He remembered the well-organized stockpile of water, food, and medicines. Apparently taking out walkers wasn’t a job for Calley’s men, but raiding the countryside for supplies might very well be.

Calley didn't respond. 

"Why hire it out? If there's more to this job, this is when you tell me what it is. Or we turn around and leave, with your deposit. Your choice."

At this, Calley smiled down at his thousand-dollar boots. "You're headquartered in the south, right? The Keys?"

"Other side. Cocoa Beach."

"Ah, yes. One of the Outlands."

Daryl had never heard South Florida referred to that way before. He waited; Calley obviously needed to spin his little yarn before he got to the point.

"I don't suppose you've heard, down there, that the Feds aren't going to be extending Zone 21, or creating a new one, down there in the swamps?" He turned to look at Daryl. "They're cutting central-to-south-Florida loose. Too much of a drain on resources that could be put to better use elsewhere."

Daryl thought about this. Probably just another rumor - those were always flying around, getting blown out of proportion. The Feds this, the Feds that. The Feds were testing the virus on people. The Feds nuked large areas of the country. Crap like that.

Calley was talking. "I’m a wealthy man. Even now." He turned and smiled again. "In another time, I'd have refused the government's offers for land that's been in my family for over a hundred years."

"So why do it, then? Daryl looked out at the trees. He could see branches heavy with flashes of bright orange. "They'll raze your whole orchard." He thought about it for a moment. "If what you're sayin' is true, they'll turn this into some kind of fortified borderland, or something."

Calley nodded. "Exactly. And I intend to let them do it."

Daryl's lip twisted. "Must be different up here in the zones. Money ain't worth much where I'm from, if you couldn't tell that from the type of payment we agreed to."

"Oh, it's not worth much more here, either. But money isn't what I was offered." That smile again; it was starting to creep Daryl out. "The power balance in this country has changed. It changes every day. I'm not going to turn down a chance to be one of the men at the heart of it."

 _Combined Zone Governor Mitchell Calley_. Or whatever puffed-up title he'd been offered. Daryl could imagine the man telling him what a nice ring it had to it. All he knew was it made him damn glad he lived in the part of Florida that was being cut loose, regardless of whatever other problems it caused.

But that wasn't the issue. "You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you clean out your own land? You got men. Hell. Walkers make good target practice. You seem like a guy who'd like that sort of thing."

Calley seemed thrilled Daryl had figured something out. "Oh, I am, and I do! Nothing better than getting out there with a rifle, blowing out diseased skulls." He pointed to some of the animal heads mounted around the room. "They don't tend to make such a nice trophy, though." Before Daryl could ask again, Calley continued. "But it isn't just walkers I need cleaned off my land."

Daryl heard a clock chime echoing somewhere in the house. "You care to elaborate on that?"

Calley spread his hands. "Look. I've used migrants and whatnot for years, to pick and do manual labor. My daddy did before that, and his daddy before that, and his daddy...well," he shrugged. "Farms had their own self-perpetuating work force, back in those days." He walked across the room, boots clopping heavily on the floor like a sheriff coming into the saloon. "When the outbreak happened, and for the following years, this was always kind of a safe haven for those people, the ones who didn't have anywhere to go. Good temperatures, sources of water and food, men with guns to keep the property cleared."

It was like having a story told to you late at night around a campfire. Daryl already had an idea of how the story ended, but he needed the man to say it.

"Over time, I lost good men. Family members, even. My wife, my daughters. I'm ready to leave this place, dust off my hands and move on." He leveled a look at Daryl. "I can't do that while bodies are still moving around on the land. Dead ones, or living."

"Because that would be a little harder to dust off your hands." Daryl was actually surprised how calm he sounded. He'd have to remind Sophia that he really was getting a handle on his temper, next time she bitched about it. "I get it."

Calley twitched an eyebrow up. "It's a little more complicated than that."

"It's really not." Daryl shrugged. "And it ain't a deal-breaker, if that's what you're worried about."

Staredown. Calley was measuring him again. Daryl didn't care if he'd met some sort of expectation. The rich always had someone else do their dirty work. Hard work was one thing, but show them something that might turn up to shame them later, and that was a job for people who didn’t have as many options. People like him.

Calley broke the stalemate first. He held out his hand, and Daryl took it. 

Calley was smiling. "Well, I'm glad to be doing business with you, son," he said, his earlier affability back in place. "You sure that big old colored boy you got with you, and that cute little girl, aren't going to give you grief over it?"

Daryl didn't smile. "They work for me. They'll do their jobs." He kept his hand firmly in Calley's. "And don't ever use that word around me again."

Calley's eyes glinted at this show of bleeding-heart weakness. “Did I use a word that offends you?" He leaned in a little bit. "Which one was that?"

Someday Daryl was going to rearrange the face of everyone who had ever pissed him off. But this was not that day.

"Son." Daryl dropped Calley's hand, and walked out of the office.

 

***

 

_T-Dog_

There were times when Theodore just wanted to lock Daryl and Sophia in a room and let them go at it like badgers until they worked things out. Because hearing her whine, and then needle, and then outright insult him, while worrying about when Daryl was finally going to lose it and just turn her over his knee was giving him high blood pressure.

He pulled Sophia aside as Daryl let himself into the guest house. "Ease down a little bit, girl. He's not gonna tell us anything 'til you get off his back."

She gave him a look. "Something went down in that office. We need full disclosure, not Daryl Dixon keeping shit to himself that other people need to know!"

Theodore sighed. She was mostly right, and of course going about it all the wrong way. Daryl was not a guy you could persuade or threaten. He set his own terms for things, and that wasn't ever going to change.

Inside the guest house, the tension vibrating between Sophia and Daryl wasn't enough to detract from Theodore's appreciation of their temporary headquarters. The place was _tight_. The house they occupied in Cocoa had once been someone's vacation home, but it was a shotgun shack compared to this. More of that knotty wood everywhere, comfortable furniture, a big kitchen. A bar. Stocked, if frugally. Hell, there was even a bowl of oranges on the rustic kitchen table. On top of that, there were rows of water bottles and crates of packaged food, just like at the main house.

Daryl was already appreciating the bar; he’d taken down a bottle and found himself a glass. Theodore watched as he poured, all the while leaning against the counter. With his back to Sophia, he squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before turning around.

"You." He pointed at her before she could even open her mouth. "Sit."

An entire mutiny passed over her face before she complied. Theodore had a feeling the instructions didn't include him, but he sat also. It was the best option, really, in case someone started throwing things. It happened sometimes.

"You remember when we talked at Shep’s, before we got this contract?"

Sophia nodded. "Yeah."

"And I told you I'd leave you home, if I got the notion, and not even bring you on the job?"

“Yeah.” Sophia's voice dropped about an octave, and Theodore considered pulling the bowl of oranges out of her reach. "Yeah." 

"And where are you?"

She looked like she was chewing through her tongue before answering. "I'm sitting here. Listening to you talk to me like I'm five." 

Daryl took a swallow of his drink, like he was also taking a moment to consider his answer. "If you were five, I wouldn't expect you to understand what I'm gonna say to you."

Another agonizing pause. "Okay. So say it."

Daryl leaned in so his face was about a foot from Sophia's. She didn't back up, but Theodore saw her swallow. Daryl being quiet was infinitely more intimidating than when he yelled.

"This job could get ugly. Real ugly." He paused, and when she didn't react, he continued. "I need to be able to depend on you. I ain't got a choice in the matter. And that means when I tell you to do something, you got to do it. Not bitch about it, or ask questions, or take your own sweet time makin’ up your mind."

One of her hands clenched on the table, and then relaxed. "Okay."

"So you understand, then?"

At this, she leaned a little closer too, upping the personal-space ante. Even Theodore felt uncomfortable by now, and hell, he was across the table from them. "I understand. I'll follow orders. All of them."

"Lickety split? Quick like a little bunny?" Or course, Daryl couldn't not push a few buttons - Theodore was of half a mind to tell him to knock it off, but Sophia was already answering. 

"Yes." 

Daryl stood up again, and nodded. "All right then. Go check over the bike. You're gonna be on it today."

Theodore watched a vein pop in her temple with the effort it took her to keep her mouth shut. She clenched her teeth and nodded, and with a baleful glance at Theodore, she went outside.

When the door slammed, Daryl rubbed his eyes. "Goddamn."

"You two are scary, you know that?" Theodore shook his head slowly. "I don't know how you do it, man."

"You kiddin'? Every time's a crapshoot with that girl." Daryl finished off his drink and made a face. "I won that one. Don't mean it'll happen next time."

"So." Theodore sat back his chair. "Am I gonna get the same speech, or you gonna tell me what went on with Calley?" Daryl didn't answer right away, so he pressed on. "Or about how you can barely see straight right now? Don't try to shit me, I can see it plain as day."

Daryl glared, but the way he had to keep blinking stole the impact of it. "Fine, you can tell, whatever. It comes and goes."

"Uh huh." 

"Forget about that." Daryl propped himself up against the table. "There's a little detail Calley didn't put in the contract."

Well, Theodore had expected as much. He sat back and waited. 

"It ain't just walker cleanup we're supposed to be doin', here."

"Meaning?"

"That fucker's got people he wants off his land, so he can trade it to the Feds for bein' named King Shit, or somethin'."

Theodore shook his head. "People? Who?"

"Hell if I know. Squatters, migrants he had pickin' for him, workin' here. Killin's quicker'n tryin' to make 'em leave, is Calley's thinkin'."

Theodore drummed his fingers on the tabletop, slowly. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'm okay with gettin' the lay of the land, seein' what's out there." Daryl took the bottle back to the bar. "Not helping," he muttered.

"And after that?"

"I ain't thinkin' about after that, yet. We don't know what's out there. Could be bandits, could be people already infected - I'm not makin' any decisions until I know more." He scowled at Theodore. "That work for you?"

Theodore crossed his arms. "I don't know. Maybe we oughta have some sort of contingency plan, for if and when we run into regular people." He shook his head. "I don't like the idea of killing people who aren’t a threat in cold blood. For pay. What's that make us?"

Daryl paced around the room, pushing off furniture when he went a little off course. "It makes us paid." He waved a hand in Theodore's direction. "Oh, shut up already. We ain't shootin' anybody right now. I said we'd scout first, and that's what we're gonna do. Then we'll decide."

That 'we' was misleading. He understood enough of how Daryl's mind worked to expect that Daryl probably figured he could bring Theodore around, but Sophia would be an endless sticking point. "This is why you got all in Sophia's face about her listening to you, isn't it?"

The argument Theodore expected didn't come. Daryl stopped his pacing long enough to drop onto a couch with a groan. "No, it ain’t why. She don't take orders well. I don't want her gettin' herself killed because she's too busy goin' 'oh, why, Daryl, blah blah you're so stupid!' " He flipped up into a snarly little falsetto to imitate Sophia - not badly, in Theodore's opinion.

"Makes sense," Theodore said finally. They'd discuss the rest later, and if Daryl thought Theodore was going to agree to murdering people, he was barking up the wrong tree. "Maybe you oughta stay right there and rest. You're gonna need to be sharp."

Daryl didn't answer, so Theodore rolled up the map and went outside to collect Sophia. Might as well get started on the scouting, so they knew what they were up against.

 

***

_Sophia_

They had a lot of ground to cover today. The perimeter of the ranch consisted of moderately wooded areas that screened the property from outsiders. After leaving the guest house, they found the horse barn and a riding enclosure located not far from the guest house. Riding trails crisscrossed the property, and a creek ran through it north to south.

However, the ranch itself wasn’t so much a ranch as a working orchard. A large one, extending out from the center of the property and arranged in what Calley had told them was a traditional formation, a _quincunx_ , like the dots on the fifth side of a die. His workers had apparently been tending it up until recently, when the walker population finally got out of control.

Sophia sighed, conflicted. She was mad enough at Daryl to wish he was there, so she could give him the full, advanced silent treatment. And yet it was so much less stressful with T-Dog driving and being his reasonable self. 

"Looks like the fence has been torn down and put back up a few times out here." Sophia pointed at a damaged section of orchard fence in front of them, and then marked the corresponding area on the map.

"Probably an entry point for walkers," T-Dog agreed. 

She could feel him looking at her, and finally she turned. "I suppose you're thinking that I should shut up and do what Daryl says more often, aren't you?"

He seemed to be trying not to smile. "I was actually thinking you dealt very maturely with a difficult situation."

She made a rude noise. "Ha. You're just glad you didn't have to intervene."

"If I've learned one thing over the past few years, it's that you two usually manage to work things out, one way or another." T-Dog steered the truck around some deep ruts in the trail. "It wouldn't hurt if you took a few lessons from how your mama used to manage his temper."

Sophia sank into memory for a moment: Daryl yelling and kicking things, pitching a fit instead of dealing directly with whatever had pissed him off that day. Carol would just get out of his way until his anger exhausted itself. Then she'd change the subject. It had seemed to work, but Sophia now wondered how many of those difficulties actually got resolved. 

She shrugged. "He was different with mom than he is with me."

T-Dog nodded. "That's 'cause you're likely to come right back at him with both barrels when he's bein' a jackass." He maneuvered the truck off the path and starting up a little grade, back towards the orchard. "He don't like bein' told he's wrong, even when he knows he is."

Sophia sighed. "Who does?" Now she could handle a little subject-changing of her own. "How about you pull over so I can take the bike down and get to work?"

“I still don’t love this idea. Better if we stick close together.”

“Except the bike can go places the truck can’t. Which is why we brought it.”

She knew he wasn’t thrilled about it, but he located a spot that had a little bit of cover, and got out to help her get the bike down. She'd already checked it twice over, once back at home and a second time when Daryl had told her to, so she didn't bother to do it again. She strapped the 20 gauge into its fork-mount scabbard and grabbed her helmet.

T-Dog came around the side with the walkies. She shook her head at him. "I'm using the headset." She took the little earpiece-and-mic out of the helmet and hooked it over her ear.

"That means you're gonna keep it on the entire time. No argument." 

Sophia gave him a little salute. "Aye-firmative." She grinned as T-Dog gave her a stern look. "I'm serious! Don't worry. Just scouting. I'll be careful." She pulled a pair of binoculars out of a saddlebag and showed them to him. “And I’ll check from a distance before I go in anywhere, okay?”

"You better." 

It felt better than it should have, to be riding free through Calley's orchards. The terrain was pretty easy, some bumps here and there but nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing like the jumps some of the kids who raced the makeshift course at home could make. Daryl had taken them to watch, a couple of years ago, and after the first race she'd begged for one of the bikes. 

When he’d brought a beat-up little Yamaha home, a few weeks later, Carol had practically locked her in the house to keep her away from it. He had told Carol that he wanted Sophia able to fix an engine, and the bike’s two-stroke was perfect for learning. She’d all but rebuilt it herself. Then he'd told her that if she hurt herself bad enough for Carol to find out she was riding it, he'd lie and say he had nothing to do with it, leave her out to dry. It had made her more careful and stealthy, and she had developed a talent for hiding even more serious injuries like a broken wrist.

Not until much later did she find out Daryl had traded his brother's old chopper for the bike. Just another one of the things she'd never stop owing him for, and another one of the reasons she should try to be more chill when he was a jerk.

She kicked up sandy soil riding down a little hill, and then came to a quick stop.

"Hey, T," she said into the headset mic.

"Yeah?"

"Is there a set of little outbuildings on that map? Like...they look like sheds, or maybe even tiny cabins." She flipped up the helmet's face shield and pulled the binoculars out for a closer look.

"Looks like it. Kind of between the..." she heard the crumpling of paper over the radio. "West and center portions of the orchard?" 

"Yep, that'd be the right place." She stashed the binocs and flipped the shield back down. "Goin' in for a closer look."

"Keep up the chatter."

"Will do." She rode cautiously and didn’t rev the engine as she went towards the small buildings. The orchard was less well-kept here, with long grass and low patches full of rainwater. Rather than park in a big puddle, she stopped the bike where the ground was still high. The day was unusually hot and muggy for winter, and it felt good to get her helmet off and feel the slight breeze. She adjusted the earpiece. “You still hearing me? I’m on foot now.”

“You got the shotgun?”

“What do you think?” Sophia had pulled it from its scabbard before walking towards the row of buildings.

Up close, she realized they were probably intended as temporary housing for Calley's workers. When she was younger, she might have felt sorry for those people, whoever they were, but things like sleeping rough and a lack of running water didn't seem like such a tragedy anymore. She’d lived in worse, for months on end.

The first shack’s door was off its hinges. Not a lot of daylight penetrated the interior, and suddenly she wished she’d brought a flashlight, one of the big metal ones that took way too many batteries and doubled as a club. The shotgun’s relatively short barrel made it not ideal for poking into dark places, either. She rummaged around in the underbrush surrounding the buildings until she found a long branch. It would work not only for checking the darker corners, but also for keeping a walker out of reach long enough to pump a round into the chamber and fire.

As for taking aim, she wasn’t as worried about that. She’d told T-Dog she was probably a better shot than him or Daryl, and she’d back up that claim if asked. When Daryl had started teaching her to shoot, she’d been so small that the recoil on the 12 gauge had knocked her over. He put a 20 gauge in her hands instead, and she did a lot better. It didn’t have the stopping power of the 12, but it forced you to be good enough to make a head shot every time.

“So. Find anything interesting?” T-Dog’s voice crackled in her ear.

“I’m in the first cabin,” she answered. “Nobody’s been here in awhile, and it looks like animals moved in after the people left.” There was no furniture, just wooden shelves built into the walls - bunks, she guessed. They still had scraps of fabric scattered across them - a poke with the stick revealed nothing else.

She looked down. More animal tracks in the dirt floor. She looked closer, imagining she could see the imprint of a human foot. Something skittered out from under the bunks at her, and she squealed.

“What, what?” T-Dog came across loud and anxious. “What happened?”

She cringed. “Nothing. Or, nothing major. A rat or something ran out at me. Jeez.” The shack was creepy. She backed out into the daylight again. The breeze cooled the sweat on the back of her neck, and she shivered.

“You need me to come down there?”

 _Calm down, you big baby_. Sophia took a deep breath and looked all around. Nothing, as far as she could see. “No, I’m good. Just going to poke my nose in the other ones real quick, and then I’ll be done here.” She didn’t really want to, but it was stupid to be scared. Or, maybe not stupid. But not helpful, either.

“Be careful.”

She nodded to this last admonition, not even thinking that he couldn’t see her. The second and third cabins both still had their doors, but they also had more light inside due to holes in the roof and walls. “Nothing in these two.”

“On the map it looks like there’s two more?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.” She repeated the procedure on the fourth cabin, poking the doorway open with the stick and letting light fall across the floor.

This one was different. It had...oh, god. That had to be blood, darkening the walls and still clotting the dirt of the floor. She swallowed hard. There were the remains of some clothes, too, and the dark red of dried blood was unmistakable. “Looks like, um. Looks like somebody might have bought it in number four.”

“Bodies?”

“No. Blood, though. Lot of it.” She was a little lightheaded, and the bloody walls of the shack felt like they were closing in on her, suffocating her. She backed hurriedly out the door, banging her arm hard on the frame. “Shit!”

“What? The hell is going on?”

A tendril of blood crawled down her forearm from a cut on her elbow. “I just cut my arm a little.” She had dropped her stick, too. Not going back for it, though. She’d just peek in the doorway of the last cabin and be out of there. “One more to go and I’m out.”

“How bad you hurt?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t be a mother hen.” Scolding him for worrying about her made her feel just a tad braver, and she wiped the blood off her arm before walking towards the fifth doorway.

Number five had a bit of a sticky door, and it creaked, of course, when she opened it. “Anybody home?” she called. “Any geeks or dead things?” 

“Very funny,” T-Dog told her. “Hurry up and get outta there.”

“What, are we late for lunch, or something?” She looked around the interior. It was the darkest of the buildings, and she tried to force her eyes to acclimate to it from the doorway. Maybe she didn’t have to go inside this last one.

Until a bump against her back practically launched her inside.

The smell. Why hadn’t she noticed it? It may have been well over a year since she’d seen a walker up close, but you just didn’t forget that smell. Combined with the metallic taste in her mouth, it was almost enough to make her gag.

She whirled so fast that she knocked the walker’s arm away with the barrel of the shotgun. In the dark she could barely see it, but it moved all lurchy and slow, like it had been dead a long time.

Near panic, unable to even make a sound come out of her mouth, she pulled the trigger too soon and blew half of the walker’s torso away. 

“The hell was that! Sophia!” T-Dog’s voice was raw with anxiety. “You okay? You okay?”

The shot knocked the walker back a few feet, out of the doorway, and she watched the spent cartridge go flying as she pumped in another round. Her hands seemed to move in slow motion, and the only thing fast was her heartbeat, trying to hammer a hole in her chest.

Then she felt bony fingers hook into the back of her shirt, and she screamed, unable to stop herself. This one was stronger, a lot stronger, and it dragged her to her knees from behind. Reduced to jerky, random movements, she drove her elbow back as hard as she could, and felt it connect with something. The walker didn’t let go, and instead pushed her down as she twisted onto her back. She could smell its breath, its gaping mouth, coming towards her like a fucking piranha, and she was some hapless creature that fell into the river. She was food.

“No! _NO_!“ She kicked at it, and it grunted and moaned as her boots connected with its rotting flesh so hard that she even knocked a gory, seeping hole in its thigh. It had long hair, hair that had once been red. 

She wrestled the barrel of the shotgun under its chin as it came at her again, and blew its rotting brainpan apart. Bits of it landed on her, and she spit violently when she felt something on her lips. “Goddamn it, T! Walkers!” she wheezed into the mic, which by now hung halfway off her face.

“Hang on, girl! I’m comin’!” She could hear T-Dog gunning the truck’s engine. Probably five minutes until he got to her.

The doorway darkened. The other walker was back from her earlier shot, arms outstretched to clutch at her. Still on her back on the floor, she dug into the dirt with her heels, mindlessly trying to get away. 

“ _Shoot it shoot it shoot it shoot it-_ she gibbered to herself, forcing her shaking fingers to work the fore-end and the trigger. Her next shot took off its head. It dropped to its knees, and then fell on top of her.

She panted and shoved it away, forcing herself to her feet and out the door. Already, she could see two more of them coming from one of the other shacks - _how had she possibly missed them, or not disturbed them before?_ \- and she clenched her jaw, willing her teeth to stop chattering. This was shock, and she couldn’t give in to it. She had two more rounds in the magazine. The spare cartridges were in her saddlebag. These two had to count.

The two new walkers were smaller, and it occurred to her that one of them might have been younger than she was. Kids, even. But not anymore - they had hollow, bruise-rimmed eye sockets and ragged clothes and visible bite wounds. 

Didn’t anyone vaccinate people, around here?

She walked backwards, fast, trying to get to where she’d left the bike. When she reached level ground she stopped, took aim, and took down the bigger of the two.

One more shell. She let this one get closer, about six feet away. Her heart was still pounding in terror, but she had to wait. Just long enough. Be patient.

It was close enough for her to hear it gurgling and wheezing, and its yellow eyes were fixed on her. Its jaw was slack, and if she didn’t think it was impossible, she’d swear it was drooling.

“Eat this, fucker,” she said, and shot it in the face.

After it fell, she whirled to make a run for the bike. Reload the shotgun, get on the bike, and get the hell out of there. 

Except the bike was gone. Nowhere. She stared dumbly, and then turned in a circle. Hadn’t she left it up on that little rise over there?

For several seconds, it barely mattered, because she had to lean over and vomit. She braced her hands on her knees and emptied her stomach all over the ground until she ached.

She spit a few times before standing up, and then wiped her watering eyes on her shirt. This was just not cool. There seemed to be no more walkers approaching, but she was still stuck out here - if she had dropped the radio in the shack she sure as hell wasn’t going back to get it - and somebody had her bike.

Walkers were only interested in one thing. If the bike was gone, that meant live people were somewhere nearby. She could either wait for T-Dog, or she could make an attempt to track whoever took the bike.

Weak as she felt, she just couldn’t handle waiting, so she walked up the rise to where the bike had been. Sure enough, there were tracks in the soft earth, leading away from the orchard towards the natural treeline. And, here and there, a footprint. Worn sneakers, most likely, from the look of the print. 

As she followed the tracks, she reached a point where the thief had gotten on the bike - the footprints stopped and the tire tracks became more pronounced. From the way the trail started to zig and zag, with deep ruts, the bastard wasn’t an experienced rider. 

Sophia took off at a jog. The adrenaline rush of her encounter was bleeding off fast, and she needed to keep moving or she’d literally collapse. What she’d do when she finally found the person she was chasing…well. She’d have to think of something. Maybe she could bluff him into believing she still had some rounds in the shotgun. If not, she was going to have to rely on charm, and she sure as hell didn’t feel very charming at the moment.

Maybe she should’ve waited for T-Dog. Ugh. He and Daryl were going to take turns yelling at her, and then when they got tired of that, they’d make fun of her and never let her live it down. If she got the bike back, she at least had some leverage against the mock-fest. The four walker kills didn’t really count - obviously, those were expected of her, at this point. Daryl had as good as said so. She wouldn’t be out here if he couldn’t depend on her.

She skidded to a halt in some pine needles, listening. Sure enough, that was the bike. Someone was having a hard time getting it restarted. It sounded like a flooded engine. She smiled grimly. Dumbass had no idea how to choke it.

She lowered the shotgun in front of herself and made her way into the small clearing ahead, walking as quietly as she knew how. No doubt the thief wouldn’t hear her, he had the helmet on - how many thieves went for safety first, she wondered - and he was bent over the bike, focused on starting it. She closed in, and watched him fumble for a few long moments before she called out.

“I think you accidentally took something that belongs to me.”

He turned so fast the bike almost fell over, and had a small revolver out and pointed at her. 

She made herself smile, and shook her head. “Looks like mine’s bigger.”

“You’ve got five more rounds in the saddlebag,” said a muffled voice, a teenage boy from the sound of it. “I heard you shooting back there. You’re out.”

Boys. Arrogant assholes, all of them. She gave the shotgun a vicious pump and let the last spent cartridge spiral through the air. Nice theatrical touch, if nothing more. “I was carrying some extras.” She took a step forward. “And thanks for stepping in to help out, that was really considerate.”

“You looked like you were handling it.” The boy cocked his pistol, but he sounded a little less sure of himself. ”Also? You’re bluffing.”

Sophia was just _done_. She raised the shotgun and aimed it at his face. “Try me.”

For a long time, all she could hear was the rustling of pine boughs and an occasional lone birdcall. Then, finally, the boy raised his hands, letting the pistol’s trigger guard hook harmlessly around his thumb. “I’m out of ammo too.”

She didn’t lower the shotgun. “Then you won’t mind if I take my bike and get out of here.” She kept the barrel trained on him and circled around to the other side of the bike.

As she did it, the boy put his hands on the helmet. 

“Hey, what are you doing? Hey!” She tried to figure out a way to be menacing, but it wasn’t like she could shoot him. Hit him with the shotgun? Yeah. That sounded doable.

He had the helmet off, and dropped it to the ground. He just looked at her, frowning a little.

Sophia didn’t move. She kept the gun and the bike between them, but she looked back at him. A sweaty forelock of dark brown hair flopped over his forehead. Bright blue eyes stared at her, vivid in a flushed face. She frowned back at him. There was...something. The line of his jaw, clear and sharp and without the softness of baby fat.

“Sophia?” he said finally. “Is that you?”

Once again, her stomach churned and she couldn’t get her breath. It was just too much. She let the shotgun drop, and swayed, feeling the ground try to come up to meet her.

He reached out and caught her hand. “It _is_ you,” Carl Grimes said softly.

Unable to speak, she nodded, and squeezed his hand.

 

***

 

_Daryl_

What, did he think he was going to be able to sleep? Daryl lay on the couch with an arm over his eyes, trying to make the room stop spinning by sheer force of will. It was better, now that he wasn’t standing up, but it still felt like a combination of being drunk and standing at the top of a cliff.

Fuck everything about this job. He should’ve known that anybody who could agree to their outrageous payment terms was going to be a son of a bitch to work for. Fucking Calley. Daryl cautiously opened his eyes and looked around the room. This was the man’s _guest house_ , and it was nicer than any building Daryl had been inside in his life. 

And they had agreed to potentially kill people for this guy. Well, he had agreed to it, on T-Dog’s and Sophia’s behalves. Maybe there was a way around it. A way to scare any non-walkers off Calley’s property so DDP wouldn’t have to deal with them at all. It was the main reason he’d sent T and Sophia to scout the ranch. They’d soon have a good idea what they were dealing with.

He didn’t try to resist the impulse for very long; hell, it had sort of worked the last time. He got out what was left of the bag of weed and rolled himself another joint. As he lit it, he noticed a little engraved sign on the kitchen counter, asking guests to please refrain from smoking. He gave it the finger, and took a long drag. 

And then he let the thoughts that normally stayed holed up in the back of his mind come out to play for awhile, at least for as long as the smoke would insulate him from the images.

_Carol looks over at him in the dark. The moonlight silvers the tips of her hair and makes her eyes gleam. “You could have just told me the truth. I would’ve understood.”_

_He shakes his head, not wanting to look at her, because she somehow doesn’t even look hurt. Like she already knew, or something. “Nothin’ to tell.”_

_She holds out the ball cap. “I know you. You wouldn’t have kept this for no reason.” She smiles a little. Teasing. “You’re sentimental, even if nobody else knows it.”_

_Pissed, he grabs the hat from her and heaves it out into the surf. Lightweight fabric, it doesn’t go very far and soon washes back up at his feet. He kicks it, and this time Carol makes a frustrated sound and wades out after it. “Cut it out, Daryl. You’re being ridiculous.”_

_She shakes the water out of it and tries to hand it back to him, but he won’t take it. She sighs. “You stubborn, mule-headed man.” She smoothes the hat against her lap. “Fine, I’ll just put it back where I found it.”_

_“You shouldn’ta found it in the first place.” Daryl hunches over._

_“I know that. And I know you don’t want to talk about it, or about what happened tonight, and that’s fine.” Her mouth twists a little. “I’m a little embarrassed myself, so I’d really rather forget it too.”_

_At this, he looks at her, helpless, because what do you say to a woman about something like that? Especially when she seems inclined to just forgive you? For not giving her what she wants, but for not wanting to leave her, either?_

_“Daryl.” She reaches out and touches his face, and it somehow hurts as much as a slap. “I want you to be happy. You’ve always been here when we need you, me and Sophia, and I need to know you’re going to be okay.”_

_There’s something in her voice, and he grabs her wrist, harder than he means to. “This ain’t about...the other stuff. What’s goin’ on?”_

_Carol gives a weird little laugh, and then covers her mouth and looks out over the ocean._

_It dawns on him. “You went to the doctor a few days ago.”_

_She nods. “I don’t...don’t really want to go into the specifics right now. But, ah...it’s probably not going to take very long. I’ve been teaching Sophia all I can about the business, but I want you to promise me-”_

_She stops, and it takes long enough that he just wants to start promising whatever. Blank checks - she doesn’t even have to tell him what it is, first, he’ll promise it._

_Then she takes the hat again, and puts it into his hand, and closes his fingers around it. “When I’m gone, I will haunt you _forever_ if you don’t do something about this.”_

_He stares at her. “Do something about it? I got no idea even where that chink _is_ , or if he’s alive, and I don’t really give a-”_

_“Yes, you do.” Carol stops him. “You do, and you always have, although you ran just about as far away as you could without walking into the ocean. So,” she stands up and brushes off her skirt. “You’re going to do something to make yourself happy. It’s my dying wish, which means you have to do it.”_

_She turns to walk back towards the pier, and he scrambles up to follow her. “Your dying wish my ass!”_

_Somehow, she’s laughing, loud and full and real. “Honey, you have no idea.”_

He looked down. The joint was burning forgotten and small between his fingers. He took another drag, the last one he was going to allow himself. Held it in. The vertigo was fading; the walls no longer seemed like they were trying to slant around him.

That goddamn hat. Right now it was buried below his clothes in a crate, below things he never took out to wear so that he’d never have to see the hat. Or think about how it smelled, or used to. That funky, slightly-sour-milk smell of unwashed hair. He’d tortured himself with it a lot, at first. When he’d first left the Greene farm with the rest of them, Grimes and his wife and kid. Carol and T. That crazy fucker Walsh, and nosy-ass Dale, and, oh yeah, Andrea Oakley.

While Glenn stayed behind. Full of promises about how he’d meet up with them later. Not that Daryl had stuck around for that part. He’d gotten on Merle’s bike and left, waited for the group back at the highway. 

When the others finally drove up, Dale had leaned out the Winnebago’s window. “Glenn said to tell you goodbye. He said-”

“I don’t give a shit,” Daryl answered. He gunned the chopper. “Let’s move.”

 _Let’s move_. He needed to do that now. Enough of this moping and lying around, and why hadn’t T-Dog radioed in? He grabbed a walkie. “T, you out there? Sound off.”

Nothing. “Sophia? Girl, you better have a damn good reason for the radio silence.”

Nothing. He was up off the couch and moving. Couldn’t leave those two to a single task by themselves, apparently. He wanted to be pissed, but somehow, he was anxious, too. Must be the dirt weed again. This time it was making him paranoid. He really needed to cut that shit out. 

The Mossberg was still in the jeep, so he grabbed one of the pistols and an extra clip out of the bag on the table, and went outside. “Any time now, you two,” he said into the walkie. “This stopped bein’ funny about five minutes ago.” Wasn’t funny then either, actually.

He rummaged through the weapons locker in the back, and looked at the Mossberg - 12 gauge pistolgrip that could knock down a bear. But he needed something that was more reassuring. He reached in a grabbed his bow. It wouldn’t hurt to bring it along.

From what he knew, Sophia and T-Dog had been going to skirt the perimeter and then go for the interior of the orchard, one section at a time. Daryl wasn’t sure which one they had started with, so he was just going to have to retrace what he was guessing was their route. And keep trying to get them on the radio.

Oh, yeah. This job was turning out to be a real peach.

 

***

 

_Carl_

“So, we knew that little bunch of walkers was hanging around the picker cabins. Some of Calley’s goons had been out there a week or so ago, so I was gonna go down there and look for any spare ammo they might have dropped. Like, there probably wasn’t gonna be any, but still. It’s not like we have that many chances to get our hands on it, you know? And Glenn didn’t wanna let me go alone, but I can handle myself.” 

He knew he was babbling, and he wanted to stop and just look at her, but somehow he couldn’t make his mouth slow down. He picked up the machete hanging from his belt. “I mean, if I got in any trouble, I’d just use this, right? I’ve taken walkers down with it before, lots of times-”

“Glenn?” Sophia stopped pushing the bike. “Glenn is with you? What about the others? Your mom and dad?”

Carl swallowed hard and shook his head. He’d tell her later. 

“Just me and Glenn. And some of the other workers. We’ve been picking and doing orchard work around here for the whole season. It’s not so bad - there’s food, and places to sleep and set up a pretty secure camp. But it’s been getting weird lately. Like, bad-weird. Some of the workers have disappeared, and it’s not from walkers, either. They leave camp and then they just don’t come back again. And then-” he stopped and pointed to the blood on her arm. “What happened?” 

Oh, no. Not like this, not right after he found her. “You’re not bit, are you?” He heard his voice get higher, anxious and tight. It cracked, and normally that would bug him, but right now he didn’t care.

Sophia gave him a puzzled look, and then shrugged. “What, that? No, I banged my arm and must’ve cut it on a nail or something.” She rubbed at the drying blood. “Not that it matters if I was bit - I got vaccinated over a year ago. We thought we’d never get it down south, but the Feds finally sent a shipment.” She narrowed her eyes at him, reading his expression. “Haven’t you had it? The vaccine?”

Carl shook his head, and Sophia just stared at him. “But...you’re in one of the Federal Zones! We thought you guys all had better access to stuff up here.” 

“You thought wrong.” He reached over to grab the bike’s handlebars. “Here. Let me push it for awhile. We’re almost there.”

“I noticed when I was tracking you, you were giving it too much throttle. Gotta ease up when you’re riding one of these or she’ll zip right out fro under you.” She sounded so knowledgeable that Carl just nodded. Obviously she knew what she was talking about. And from what he’d seen, she was a crack shot, too. He watched her dig in the bike’s saddlebag to get a few more cartridges to load into her shotgun. “Guess I better reload, since you were totally bluffing.” She grinned sidelong at him, and he couldn’t help but grin back.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been lying next to him under a car, both of them on their stomachs, barely daring to breathe as a herd of hungry walkers lurched right past them, inches away. She’d been clutching a _doll_ , for pete’s sake. The look of pure terror on her face when she’d run off was still burned into his memory. And he had truly believed she was dead.

And yet here she was, very much alive, and sure of herself, and far, far more grown up than he was. Granted, she was two years older than he. What would that make her now, seventeen? He glanced out from under his hair at her. They were roughly the same height, but she was...she was basically a grown woman. He’d never known that her freckles went so far down, dusted across her collarbone and below, down to where curves appeared above the fabric of her tank top.

“Um. Carl?” Her smile had turned into a little smirk. “My face is up here.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. It’s just...” His notorious motormouth decided to fail him. Shit.

Thankfully, she wasn’t going to break balls over it. “It’s okay. You look different too. It’s been five years, you know?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He pushed the bike up a little ridge, and the maintenance building that had been serving as their main campsite came into view. “It’s just up here.” He hurried, thankful for the distraction of other people. “ _Oye, mira aqui!_ ” he called. “Look what I found!”

Javy and Alice started talking in rapid-fire Spanish, and Tommy turned to yell for Glenn. “Carl’s back!” Pointing at Sophia. “He’s got some girl with him!”

Carl put down the kickstand on the bike and stepped back just a little, so he could watch. He wanted to commit this to memory.

Glenn came running up, frowning. He did it so much that he was starting to get lines permanently inscribed in his forehead. “What the hell, Carl, we were starting to freak-” he stopped short.

“Hey, Glenn,” Sophia said, with a little wave. Her voice was far more tentative than before.

“Sophia?” Glenn’s eyes got huge, and the last five years just dropped away from his grinning face. “Oh, my God! Sophia!” He didn’t even hesitate, he just grabbed her and hoisted her off her feet. Sophia gave a little shriek, and then wrapped her arms around him as well, and it sounded like she was crying and laughing at the same time.

Tommy raised an eyebrow at Carl, so he explained. “We knew her from way back, right after the plague hit. Her and her mom traveled with us. We were all gonna go to the Grand Canyon together one day.” Inexplicably, Carl felt a little left out with all the hugging going on. “Remember that, Sophia? Your mom said you guys had never been there, and-”

She interrupted him, not with agreement, but with a muffled sob against Glenn’s shoulder. Glenn put her down and petted her hair. “Oh, Sophia,” he said. “Your mom? I’m sorry.”

Sophia was already wiping her eyes, making big tracks of dirt across her cheeks. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay - that was stupid of me.” She looked over at Carl, and he immediately felt like a dick. “It was just that memory, that’s all.” She took a deep breath. “And, for what it’s worth, walkers didn’t get her. Cancer did. About two weeks ago.” Tommy kindly held out a bandanna, and she wiped her face again. “There wasn’t much the med center could do - it’s not like they have chemo drugs there or anything. T-Dog’s girlfriend works there, and she stockpiled morphine for months so we’d have it when we needed it.”

“Wait, what?” The name stopped Carl’s apology in its tracks. “T-Dog is with you?”

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,no! He’s probably losing his mind - I dropped the radio I was using when the walkers attacked. He’s probably been trying to get ahold of me, and I’m not answering, and then if he told Daryl, oh, shit-”

“Wait, what?” This time it was Glenn’s turn. “Daryl is with you too? Daryl Dixon?”

Carl watched Glenn’s face do about fifty different things at once - he turned red when he said the name, and got this hopeful look, and then one that was a little sickly. Carl poked him in the arm before he could say - who knew what Glenn might blurt without thinking? Something he’d regret later, possibly. 

“It makes sense,” Carl nodded at Glenn. “You hadn’t met up with us again yet when Daryl and T-Dog left the group for good, once we got to Fort Benning. And Carol went with them.” He looked at Sophia. “They must have found you after that.” She nodded, and he decided he’d have to get her to elaborate later.

“Whoa, okay.” Glenn was rubbing his hands across his face. “I need a minute.” He walked a little ways away and stood with his back turned. If Carl were to guess, he was probably talking to himself.

Carl figured it was best to just give Glenn his space, so he introduced Sophia to the others. “This is Javy and Alice, they’re married. Tommy is Javy’s cousin. And Sara isn’t related to anybody, she’s from Colorado.” The others nodded and shook hands with Sophia. All of them eyed her shotgun - he would have to reassure them later that she was harmless. To them, anyhow.

"You two knew each other from before?" Tommy asked. Carl heard the part left unspoken. Before the plague. Before the world went to hell. Before you ended up having to watch people you loved die in front of you, and had to kill to survive. It tended to be a conversation-ender, if you added all that. It wasn't like everyone in the world didn't know what you meant.

"No, right after,” Sophia replied. We met on the road out of Atlanta, and a bunch of us kind of hung together after that." She shared one of those looks with Carl again, and this time he didn't feel like such a jerk. "Carl's mom and dad sort of took me and my mom in, after my dad died." 

He could tell she didn't want to ask the next question. She kept her voice even. "They're not here, are they?"

The others exchanged somber looks and gave them some space.

Carl shook his head. "Mom was pregnant when you got lost. We were on the road about six months later and she - she went into labor. Nobody knew what to do, she was just...bleeding and bleeding - " his voice caught. Somehow, seeing Sophia again made it feel so immediate, all over again. Raw.

She bit her lip. "You don't have to talk about it." She reached over, sort of tentatively, and grabbed his hand again. Not in that death grip like when they had first recognized each other. Soft. Thumb moving against the back of his hand. It made it hard to think straight.

He swallowed hard. "It's okay. So, yeah. Dad totally lost his shit - you can probably imagine." She nodded; of course she could. "Shane did too, and he just - up and left. One morning he was gone, and we never saw him again." He looked into her eyes, all clear and blue-green. She was still holding his hand. He gave it a squeeze, and this seemed to trigger something - she squeezed back, once, and then gently pulled free and crossed her arms.

Oh, well. He took a deep breath. "So we kept going. Glenn had come back by then. And Dale and Andrea - remember them? They were still with us too. Dad tried, he really did. But it was like - I don't know. Something broke. I know he wanted to try to keep it together, but he got all crazy and reckless. It was about a year later, I think. He got bit." Carl looked down. "I didn't even know it had happened until, like a couple of days later. He went into the woods and didn't come back. Glenn told me about it, afterward. He was the last person dad talked to."

"I'm sorry, Carl." He knew she meant it. He looked up, and followed her gaze to where Glenn was now over his momentary freakout and talking with the others. "I'm glad Glenn is still with you."

Carl nodded. "Me too. I think he considers himself my surrogate dad, which is weird sometimes."

Sophia snorted. "Tell me about it. T and Daryl are like that. Although they're a little more like over-protective big brothers who think I can’t tie my own shoes." She groaned. "I need to try to get the bike started so I can ride back and let T know I'm okay. He's probably out of his mind by now."

She walked over to the bike and flipped the starter and fuel switches, then gave the peg a good kick, jumping on it with her entire weight. In addition to it being a pretty boss move, it did visually graphic and uncomfortable things with that area he was supposed to be avoiding in favor of her face. Uncomfortable for him, at least. Blushing for about the fiftieth time since he'd found her, he bent and picked up the helmet. 

When the bike still didn't want to start, he said some minor prayers to that god he didn't believe in anymore, just for making it so she didn't leave just yet. Sophia started swearing like a sailor and going on about wet spark plugs, for which she seemed to blame Carl. He was wracking his brain to come up with an apology that didn't sound lame when the sounds of crashing underbrush made them both look up.

The bike forgotten, Sophia readied her shotgun. "Anybody else with weapons might wanna grab 'em!" Carl unhooked the machete from his belt - his .22 hadn't seen bullets in a month or more, so he was limited in that regard. Fortunately, the machete made for some pretty badass walker kills. He saw Glenn get out his gun, and the others grab incidental weapons - hatchets and hammers, mostly, jacked from the maintenance building. 

"You shoot me, girl, and you gonna have even more explainin' to do!" Carl's mouth fell open as T-Dog stumbled out of the brush, chest heaving. "Ran...all...the way... here."

Sophia lowered the shotgun. "Would it have hurt to like, call out or something? We thought you were more walkers, making all that noise like you're the clumsy undead!"

T-Dog leaned over, panting, with his hands on his knees. Carl could see he had lost weight in the past five years, but was still built like a left tackle, and running in the heat had left his bald head gleaming with sweat.

Carl turned to the others. "It's okay. We know him too." He glanced over at Glenn, who looked wary. Probably expecting Daryl Dixon to show up next - and from what Carl remembered of Daryl's tracking abilities, they'd get no warning first, he'd just silently appear.

Someone found a bottle half-full of water, and brought it over to Sophia. She held it until T-Dog was ready for it. "You _ran_?" she asked incredulously as he took a drink. "Where's the truck?"

"Got stuck in the mud." 

"Great. Like Daryl isn't going to be pissed enough about me losing the other radio." She narrowed her eyes. "You brought your walkie. Right?"

T-Dog put a big hand over his face. "It’s in the truck. Guess I forgot it. I was a little distracted, okay?"

Sophia started laughing. "Well, at least it's not just me in the doghouse then!" She patted T-Dog on the arm. "Hey. Look who I found."

He looked around, and it was Glenn he recognized first. "Aw, _hell_ no!" he yelled, and grabbed Glenn much the same way Glenn had grabbed Sophia earlier. Then, when Carl caught his eye, he put out an arm and grabbed him too while Sophia grinned.

"Oof, hey, man, good to see you," Glenn grunted. "Can't breathe, though." Carl was glad Glenn could at least speak, because he was pretty much being crushed, himself. 

"Sorry, sorry," T-Dog let them both go. "Went a little overboard." He took another swig of water and shook his head at them. "Carl, boy, you shot up, look at you." Carl grinned at him, glad he had stepped out of arm's reach when T-Dog reached over and ruffled Glenn's hair instead. "And you..." T-Dog didn't finish the sentence.

Carl could almost tell what T-Dog was thinking, looking at Glenn. He knew that he himself had changed more, physically, going from age ten to fifteen. But Glenn probably didn't look like T-Dog remembered him, either - that smiley, gung-ho college kid was gone. For good reasons; Carl knew that better than anybody. Or, almost anybody. Glenn's smile when Carl had shown up with Sophia was the first one he had seen cross Glenn's face in a long time.

This time, the others were less interested in introductions. "If there's walkers around, we should consider getting inside," Tommy suggested, gesturing over his shoulder at the building. "We all been making noise out in the open too long. It draws them." He exchanged a look with Glenn. "You were right, these ones seem to be able to sense us."

T-Dog looked puzzled. "What do you mean, _these ones_?" he said. 

"You know, that's kind of weird - " Sophia interrupted. "I thought maybe the ones that attacked me were actually in the shacks - but there's no way, I checked every single one. They just showed up, out of nowhere, like they'd just been...watching." She shuddered. "Waiting for an opportunity."

Glenn nodded at Tommy. "You're right, we should probably get inside." He pointed over at the bike. "Bring it with you." 

Carl walked next to Sophia as Glenn starting talking to T-Dog, no doubt expecting him to pass the information along to her. "Remember how I asked you if you were bit?"

They had a moment of jostling when she grabbed for the bike's handlebars right as he did, but he backed off when she frowned at him. "Yeah. Again, no big deal. I am one-hundred-percent vaccinated."

Carl shook his head. "It is a big deal. You just said those walkers seemed like they'd been stalking you, right?" She nodded. "Well, they probably were." 

"Bullshit. They don't do that. They smell you or hear you. I was probably just too loud.”

Tommy had opened the chain-link gate to the maintenance yard, and came over to join them. "No, Carl’s right. They hunt. We've even seen them surround and trap people." He looked straight ahead again. "Trust me, I know. There used to be more of us."

"I'd still most likely be okay if I got bit." Sophia sounded a little less confident. "I mean, they told us the vaccine has about a 2 percent failure rate. Pretty good odds, in my opinion."

Sara had picked up Tommy’s hatchet and her own. "Rocky was vaccinated, remember?"

Carl nodded, and Tommy answered. "So was Evie, and her boy." 

Carl watched Sophia's face as it dawned on her. She turned so pale her freckles stood out against her skin. "You're saying there's a new strain of the virus?"

He nodded gravely. "Even people who've been vaccinated can still turn. We’ve seen it happen.”

Sophia turned so fast that the bike's back wheel went over Carl's foot. "T! We gotta get to the truck!"

Apparently Glenn had filled T-Dog in on the mutated virus, because he looked serious. "I know. I'm not lettin' you go alone, though."

"I can get there faster, and radio Daryl - he's got to be out looking for us by now." Glenn was shaking his head _no_ at her, and she turned her protests on him. "He doesn't know! What if one of these new walkers finds him?"

"Sophia. From what I remember - Daryl's pretty capable of taking care of himself." Glenn turned to T-Dog. "I really don't think it's a good idea to go back for it. It'll be getting dark soon. We’ll be safer indoors."

"No way." Sophia somehow managed to get herself in both of their faces at once. "He's our _partner_. And he wouldn't leave one of us out there."

Carl remembered the way Daryl had looked for Sophia five years ago, long after everyone, even her own mother, had given her up for dead. He looked at Glenn. "We should go." An entire lifetime of emotions went across Glenn's face, and Carl felt sort of bad for pushing the issue. But still. At some point, Glenn was going to have to deal. Sooner was probably better than later.

After a long moment, he nodded. "All right." He turned to Sophia. "But we can't keep up with you on the bike, and you can't go back alone. So you, me, and T-Dog." He gave Carl a look. "The rest of you stay here. We’ll get back as fast as we can.”

No way did Carl want to stay behind. But he had to make it sound worthwhile, or Glenn would never go for it.

“The truck is in the mud, though. We need more people to get it out.” Carl looked over at Tommy, praying the guy’s innate tendency to be the muscle would exert itself.

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, as Carl mentally high-fived him. “More people give you a better chance of pushing it out.”

Javy and Alice looked unsure, but Sara, normally so quiet, added, "Good idea, I’m in." And that was it.

Carl forced himself not to smile. Oh, Glenn was going to give it to him later. 

"We're wasting time," Sophia added. She had already run the bike into the building. “Let’s go!”

T-Dog and Glenn exchanged looks again, doing some unspoken discussion of how bad of an idea this potentially was, Carl figured.

"I know where we're going - I'll take point," T-Dog said, pulling out his .45. "You reload yet?" he asked Sophia.

She held up the shotgun. "Four in the mag and one in the chamber."

Glenn didn't look happy as he checked his gun. "I've got eight more rounds, I'll bring up the rear." He gestured to the others. "Everybody without firearms stay between us. Sophia, you cover them."

At some point Carl was going to have to figure out how to be a little more impressive - walking along with an empty .22 and a machete while a girl with a shotgun protected you could give a guy a complex. For now, fell back until he was walking in front of Glenn.

"Sorry," he said.

"Like I believe that," Glenn answered. "I’d better not regret agreeing to this."

"You won't."

Carl fervently hoped he was right about that.

 

***

 

_Glenn_

Glenn didn't like anything about this scenario. As in, he had a Star Wars-epic-level bad feeling about it. 

He had tried to discourage the others from treating him like a leader, but they did anyhow, and now all he could think was that he was leading them straight into danger.

As for Carl, well...Glenn had been watching out for Carl since before Lori died, and was his sole guardian after Rick died. So seeing Carl throw himself headfirst into danger wasn't surprising. Infuriating, maybe. But not surprising.

Nor was it surprising to see Carl's gaze stay trained on Sophia, instead of scanning the area like the others were doing. Not that Glenn didn't get it, because he totally did. Carl didn't get to be around kids his age, period. Much less girls. Much less a pretty girl who was his long-lost friend. You could hardly expect the kid _not_ to be tripping over her heels. 

Except that, yeah, he did expect that. "Carl," he called, pitching his voice low so it would carry without having to yell. "Hey, Carl!" Nothing. Javy turned around, though, and Glenn gestured. "Get Carl to fall back here by me."

Javy passed the message along, and Carl came to walk beside Glenn. "What's up?"

"You need to pay attention, not stare at Sophia's backside, cute as it may be."

Carl flushed. "I wasn't!"

"Right. Is that why you tripped over your own feet three times?"

Carl hunched over a little. "Shut up."

Glenn patted him on the shoulder. "Just do me a favor. Go and tell T-Dog we need to pick up the pace a little, okay?"

Carl went, and soon they were moving at a jog. Instead of returning to his place behind Sophia, Carl worked his way over by Tommy. Good. Less distractions there.

Glenn found himself watching Sophia as well. She walked almost silently, holding the shotgun with its barrel pointed down, but he was sure she could have a target in her sights with one quick repositioning of her arms. Shoulders square, alert, but calm, especially if you considered that she'd been attacked maybe a couple of hours ago, if that. Her right arm was bloody, her tank top stuck to her back with sweat, and she was streaked in dirt all the way up her neck and face.

The visual made an unwelcome comparison come to mind. There was no question who had taught Sophia to move like that, or to shoot, and there was no doubt she could handle herself.

Meanwhile, Carl had to be reminded to pay attention to the risks that surrounded them. And who was responsible for that? 

They came to a small stream and slowed to cross it single file. _"You're muckin' up the trail, Short Round."_ Okay, now he was the one daydreaming. Time to cut that bullshit out before someone got hurt, or worse.

After they had crossed, Sophia moved next to T-Dog and said something to him. They were quiet, but the conversation got a little animated, from what Glenn could tell. He beckoned Tommy over and handed him the gun. "Watch the rear," he told him, and Tommy nodded, immediately vigilant. 

"What's going on?" Glenn walked up to T-Dog and Sophia. 

" _Somebody's_ kind of lost his trail," Sophia rolled her eyes. "He said he'd been driving along the bank of the stream and we should see the truck by now."

Glenn looked around. No truck in sight. “Seriously?” he said. “I thought you knew where you were going.”

T-Dog sounded remorseful. “I swear this is the way I came.” 

Glenn looked back. Tommy still stood watch, but Alice and Sara were talking quietly with Javy. Alice looked gray-faced and nervous, her gaze darting back and forth, squinting as she stared back towards the trees. 

Uh oh. Glenn walked over to them. “What’s up?”

Alice shook her head and clammed up, which wasn’t uncommon, because she usually let Javy talk for both of them.

Javy looked at Glenn, apologetic. “She is nervous,” he said, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Uncomfortable out in the open like this.” He pointed back towards the tree line. “She wants to go back to the maintenance building. The fence there makes her feel safer.”

He couldn’t really argue, since Alice had a good point. 

T-Dog had overheard. “Sophia can lead. It’ll go a lot faster.”

She made a rude noise. “ _You think?” she snorted. She crouched to examine some foliage along the path they’d been following._

Tommy edged his way back to them. “What do you want to do?”

Sophia stood up. “I know where to go - it looks like T-Dog came through a bit downstream from here.” 

“And we should get moving again,” T-Dog added. He looked at Glenn expectantly.

Well. Looked like it was up to him. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. Tommy, you keep my gun, and take Javy and Alice back.”

“I’ll go too,” Sara offered, holding up her hatchet. 

Glenn nodded. “Okay.” He turned to the T-Dog. “We’ll make a quick try at getting the truck out, but if we can’t, we grab your weapons and the radio, and follow the others.”

Sophia looked like she was going to protest, but he shook his head at her. He was used to teenager-logic, and he totally wasn’t having it right now. “You can radio Daryl and tell him what’s up. This way is safest for everyone.”

He watched as the others let Tommy lead them away, and then he turned to follow Sophia. 

It still felt like he should tell Carl to go back, but honestly, if Carl wasn’t already safe inside the maintenance building, Glenn would rather have him there. Where he could see him.

Glenn walked next to T-Dog. “Sophia sure seems to know what she’s doing,” he commented neutrally.

T-Dog wiped his face with the neck of his t-shirt. “Girl can track. Daryl taught her down there in the swamps.” When Glenn didn’t answer, he continued, obviously trying to be reassuring. “I left my walkie in the truck, so we’ll radio him when we get there. He’ll be pissed as a wet cat, but it’ll be good to have the backup out here.” 

Pissed as a wet cat. Glenn almost wanted to laugh. T-Dog had no idea. He looked over and caught Carl giving him the eye. Sure, sure, everyone had an opinion.

Sophia led them out from under the trees that bordered the stream. Sure enough, he could see a truck with its front wheels sunk rim-deep in the mud. “That’s going to be a little tricky,” he commented as they approached. The truck’s location was, far too out in the open for his liking. But, what the hell, they’d come this far so they had to try, right? 

Sophia climbed in to try to help steer as T-Dog, Glenn, and Carl pushed. Mostly it was a lot of spinning tires and splattering mud - there was just no traction where the tires had dug slick ruts into the soft ground. 

And a lot of yelling. “Sophia, take it out of gear!”

“I know!”

“Cut the wheel to the right when I tell you!”

“Shit. I got mud in my mouth.”

Glenn looked over as Carl spat on the ground. “Keep your mouth shut, then.” 

“I wish you’d made the others stay, we’ll never get it out by ourselves!” Carl shot back at him.

“Just another try! We can get it!” Sophia was trying to cheerlead from inside the truck, but Glenn realized it was a lost cause. Carl had slumped to the mud, T-Dog was panting, and he himself was exhausted.

“Dammit!” T-Dog’s foot slipped and he landed on one knee. “She just doesn’t wanna go.”

Sophia hopped out of the cab. “If we could get Daryl here with the jeep, it has a winch. We could pull the truck out.” She waved the walkie. “I can’t raise him, though.” 

Glenn turned to T-Dog. “We can’t stay out here for much longer. It’s going to be getting dark soon. And they do their best hunting at night.”

T-Dog nodded. “All right. We all go, then.” When Sophia started to protest, he shook his head. “Glenn’s right. We’re not equipped to fight them in the dark.”

Finally she nodded. “All right. I still don’t like the idea of him being out here without knowing what he’s up against, though. We’ll keep trying to radio him.” Sophia handed the walkie to Glenn, and then climbed back into the truck and began rooting around behind the seats.

Glenn stared at it like it might bite him. All he had to do was press a button, and, in theory, Daryl was somewhere in the vicinity with another one, tuned to the same channel. He could be talking to Daryl Dixon.

T-Dog gestured. “Go head, try him again.” He grinned. “I hope he answers. It’ll be fun makin’ him guess who.”

Glenn held down the button.

_Hey, it’s Glenn, over._

_The one you left without saying goodbye to. The one you said wasn’t nothin’ to you, who, in spite of your insistence on using a double negative, believed you. The one you said was a stupid kid with delusions. The one you said lied to you._

_Which is pretty ironic, considering which one can’t face the truth of the situation._

_You know the situation I’m talking about._

_Over._

Glenn took his thumb off the button and handed the walkie to T-Dog. “I’m thinking Daryl might not welcome a surprise like that.”

T-Dog gave him a puzzled look, but made another attempt at contacting Daryl himself. Again, no answer. “Damn. I hope he’s okay.”

In spite of himself, Glenn had the same thought. “You think he’s out here looking for you?”

T-Dog pursed his lips in thought. “Probably. You know Daryl, he can’t sit still. Although...”

Glen heard T-Dog’s note of unsurety. “What?” Carl had worked his way back around the truck and was now listening in on the conversation. Glenn gave him a warning look. The last thing he needed was Carl filling everyone in on things.

“Eh, probably nothing.” T-Dog shrugged. “He had to get his carrier tag deactivated before we could come into an FZ. And he was havin’ some side effects earlier. Headache, dizziness, stuff like that. It’s why Sophia and I are scouting without him.”

“I knew it!” Sophia had wormed her way back out of the truck. Her pockets bulged with extra shotgun shells. “I knew there was something like that going on! We never should’ve gone to that girl in the swamps!”

“And then we wouldn’t be on this job right now, would we?”

Sophia gave T-Dog a dark look. “Right now, does that seem like such a bad thing?” She held something up before tossing it. “Here. Take your spare clip.”

He caught it and stuffed it in a pocket. “This from the person who was hell-bent to make sure we got the job. Some partner you’re turning out to be. Can’t even make up your own damn mind.”

Glenn could tell he’d touched off something of a professional squabble, but something stuck out in his mind. “Daryl has a carrier tag?” He knew, from people they had met who’d been lucky enough to be vaccinated, that the inactive virus strain in the vaccine identified people who were carriers. Carriers weren’t allowed in any federal zone, so the Feds tagged them. And of course, Daryl would have figured out some random, danger-fraught scheme for getting rid of his tag. Typical. Glenn felt himself smiling before he could even stop it.

And then he caught Carl looking at him. “Just...never mind.”

Carl raised his eyebrows. “Did I say anything?” Before Glenn could answer Carl turned to Sophia. “Got any .22 cartridges in there anywhere?” He held up his pistol.

She considered. “My rifle’s in the jeep...but I know I’ve got a partial brick of .22 LR’s in here somewhere.” She dived back behind the seat to look.

Carl had just started to say something else when a shot rang out in the distance. And another one. Coming from the direction the others had gone. _Four people with one gun between them._

Glenn met Carl’s eyes and watched as shock turned to determination.

“Don’t you dare, Carl! We go as a group!”

"We have to go _now_!" Carl yelled. And then he took off at a run.

Glenn fought down rising panic when he heard Carl hit the creek, splashing loudly. The kid had left with nothing more than a machete and an empty .22. That goddamned Grimes hero gene. He cursed Rick Grimes a thousand times in his head. "If you’ve got more guns, find them _right now_!" he screamed at Sophia.

“I’m looking!” her muffled voice called. Then she reappeared, holding a pistol. "Glenn, take this!"

He didn't even look closely at it, just grabbed it and ran. He heard her call out "Full mag, ten rounds!" from behind him.

Now he looked down at the gun and almost stumbled. "Where's the safety?" he yelled back at her. Whatever this gun was, he'd never shot one before.

By now she was running too. "No safety! Firing pin! Just pull the trigger!" 

T-Dog was a little further behind, so Glenn turned and sprinted. 

Before he crossed the creek he heard more shots, and screaming. Tommy had to be almost out by now. Glenn dodged scrubby pine trees, turned his ankle, and ignored the flash of pain. "Tommy! Hang on!"

A big walker lurched out of nowhere, arms out, and Glenn threw himself to the side. He rolled across the ground and got to his feet, but it was on him that fast. Not knowing what to do, he whacked it in the face with the butt of the gun, as hard as he could. The blow opened a big gash across its cheek, but barely fazed it. It came after him with teeth bared, hands digging into the skin of Glenn’s neck. He tried to think back to childhood martial arts classes, how to break holds. The memory might as well have been from another lifetime.

The echoing _boom_ of a shotgun momentarily deafened him, as the thing’s clutching arms fell away. He turned, and could see Sophia yelling and gesturing. He struggled to understand. 

“Glenn, on your left! I’ll get the ones on your right!”

He barely saw the two advancing from his right as they went down. He turned to aim at the three that were coming at him from the left. _Just pull the trigger_ , she had said.

He did it, and missed the closest one entirely. The gun had a different kick than he was used to, and it took him precious seconds to steady himself enough to aim again. This time he blew half of its head away and it went down. Then he managed to use two bullets on the next one as well, before a shot from behind him took out the third.

“About time!” Sophia called over her shoulder, loading her shotgun as she ran.

Glenn whipped around to see T-Dog covering him. “Let’s go!”

The chaotic, terrifying sounds through the trees ahead kept getting louder. “Carl!” Glenn yelled. “You okay?”

“Hurry up, goddamn it!” The answering scream almost made Glenn trip over his feel in relief, but instead he forced himself to go faster.

When he broke back onto the path, Carl was directly in front of him, machete wildly hacking at two walkers that had dragged him down. Glenn used their ravenous distraction to run right up and shoot them both point-blank in the head. Then he dropped to one knee and grabbed Carl, checking him, his arms, his shoulders, his face. “Are you bit?”

Carl was breathing so hard his chest heaved visibly. “No. Almost got me.” He used Glenn’s arm to pull himself up. “This way!” Glenn shoved Carl behind him as they ran in the direction of shots.

Glenn had no idea how the others had managed to get this far ahead of them. They must have been running, and the walkers must have separated them from each other, because the first person they came across was Tommy. His screams had stopped probably not long after he ran out of bullets, as a walker tore out his throat. Three of them were still feeding on him.

“Nooo!” Carl ran past him again, and buried the machete into the neck of one walker. It snarled and grabbed for him as he tried to pry it out, and Glenn took aim. Three more shots. One left.

T-Dog flanked him, dropping his empty magazine to the ground before slamming another one in. “You almost out?” he panted. 

Before Glenn could answer they heard Sophia. “Theodore Douglas! Get here _now_!” T-Dog took off, and Glenn and Carl stumbled after him.

There in front of them, within sight of the maintenance compound fencing, Sophia faced off against no less than six walkers, all of them dripping in fresh blood. A few yards behind her, Javy and Sara huddled on the ground. Alice was nowhere in sight.

“I’ve got these!” Sophia yelled, pumping a round into the chamber and firing. One walker went down. “Worry about the ones coming behind you!” 

Glenn and T-Dog both whirled to find more walkers converging, coming at them out of the woods.

“Motherfuckers!” T-Dog yelled, and started shooting. Glenn held on to Carl, saving his last bullet for absolute desperation. 

“Goddamn it!” T-Dog was working to clear a jam. “Sophia, you got more loads?”

“I’m out after this one!”

“Shit!”

Glenn whirled around, still trying to hold Carl behind him.

“Javy! _Tenga cuidado!_ ” Carl screamed at the couple on the ground. 

Glenn took aim with his last bullet, at the walker bearing down on a weaponless Javy and Sara. It was almost on top of them as Carl pulled free and ran at them.

“Carl! No!” Carl was exactly in the way of his shot. “Goddammit, get down!”

Carl was still running towards them when an arrow caught the walker between the eyes. It fell forward on its face.

Carl stumbled to a stop, confused. Without the screaming and gunshots, everything was scary quiet.

Daryl Dixon walked out of the underbrush. He had already reloaded, and he scanned the area as he walked towards Javy and Sara.

Glenn could predict what he was going to do next. Daryl flipped the walker over, put a boot on its face, and pulled out his arrow.

Glenn followed Carl forward. Sophia was already beside Daryl. “About time you got here,” she was saying.

Daryl gave her an annoyed look. “Maybe you should double-check which channel you got the walkie on, next time.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Carl interrupted. “Oh, no.” He dropped to his knees next to the others.

Glenn looked down. Javy and Sara had not just been huddling terrified on the ground. They had been covering Alice, pressing their hands against a gushing wound in her neck. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

As soon as T-Dog saw what had happened, he stopped, head low. “Jesus.”

The blood sang in Glenn’s ears. He felt lightheaded, like he just wanted to sit down. He hung back a little bit, not wanting to let a single one of the eighty reactions raging through him show.

Daryl rested the crossbow against his shoulder. Neutral, with the bolt pointing skyward. “She been vaccinated, man?” he asked Javy.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sophia answered for him. 

Daryl stared at her for a long moment, and then back down at Javy. “No disrespect, but someone needs to see to her.” The offer was implicit.

And no way was Glenn going to let it happen. He stepped forward.

“I’ve got one bullet left,” he said, putting a hand on Javy’s shoulder. “I’ll do it, if you need me to.”

No one spoke. Glenn could feel everyone watching him; no, he could feel _Daryl_ watching him. But he just looked at Javy, waiting until the man was ready to accept his wife’s fate.

Javy sobbed. Sara took her hands away from Alice, who had stopped breathing. She wiped them on her pants before putting them gently on Javy. “Javier. We should let Glenn take care of her.”

Glenn made himself look down at the scene before him. How many times had he done something like this, watched a similar scene? Survivors weeping over a spouse, or a child, or even someone they barely knew. He’d watched other people pull the trigger, and he’d done it himself, when it was necessary. 

Daryl and Sophia were talking, the words mostly obscured by Javy’s weeping. “Time enough for cryin' over her later,” Daryl was saying, practical as ever, but Sophia was yanking him away, shushing him with words like _let Glenn handle it_. Good thing, because Glenn wanted nothing so much as to punch Daryl as hard as he could.

He jumped, startled, when T-Dog touched his shoulder. "Somebody should probably go do what needs to be done...for the other guy." He tipped his head back towards the woods.

Glenn had almost forgotten. He swallowed. "His name's Tommy. Tomas Guerrero," he said.

T-Dog nodded. "Okay. I'll go take care of Tommy." He turned to go. 

"Wait-" Sara stood up, wiping her face. Her fingers left tear-tracks smeared with dirt and blood. "I'll go with you." She bent and kissed Javy's cheek, and then she walked with T-Dog back towards where Tommy lay.

On the ground, Javy had quieted, still holding Alice's hand. Carl knelt beside him, the bloodstained machete still across his knees.

Glenn bit his lip. If he could shelter Carl from just this one thing, he was going to do it. "Carl." 

Carl looked up, eyes red, snot running from his nose, blood spattered across his face. "Aren't you going to..." he stopped when his voice cracked.

Glenn shook his head. "Not with Javy here."

Carl swallowed hard, and nodded. He touched Javy's arm. "Come with me now. It’s okay."

Long moments passed, and Glenn noticed that it was considerably darker. They had to get inside the maintenance building fence, and soon. But there was no way to hurry this. At least for another minute or so. That would have to be long enough to pass for compassion.

Finally, Javy took a shuddering breath. He picked up Alice's left hand and, so carefully, worked a plain gold band off her finger. Then he kissed her hand, once, twice. When he lay it across her chest, his fingers stuck to hers and he had to pull them free of the drying blood. " _Vaya con dios, mi amor_." He held back a sob. " _Deseo que estuviera con usted. Lo siento. Lo siento._ ”

Carl helped him up from his knees, and they walked away.

Now. He had to do this now. Shadows were falling, and more walkers might appear at any moment. Glenn crouched down and looked down at Alice's face. Her eyes were closed, and her normally tan skin had paled. Her lips were blue. He tried not to think about how she had smiled when Carl gave her wildflowers on her birthday, and how she could yell at Javy when they would fight sometimes.

And how she had looked so frightened earlier. If he hadn't split up the group, she might still be alive. His fault. His responsibility.

The report of a gunshot in the near distance shook him out of his thoughts. He put the gun to Alice's forehead. _Just pull the trigger_.

Ears ringing, he stared down as the rest of her blood emptied from the ruined back of her head. The dirt around her turned dark, wet red.

When he finally stood up again, he was shaking. As he turned to look back out into the trees, he saw T-Dog and Sara carrying Tommy’s body.

"We checked the building. It's clear." Sophia said. She was holding a large bundle of canvas. “I found these tarps.”

Glenn nodded. “Would you help Sara-” his voice caught and he couldn’t continue.

Sophia bit her lip. “You don’t have to ask.” She shook out one of the tarps and spread it on the ground so T-Dog and Sara could lay Tommy’s body on it, then she bent to help wrap him.

T-Dog was already going back outside the fence, and Glenn moved to go with him, but he saw Daryl meet T-Dog at Alice’s small, crumpled form. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. He just watched as they gently gathered her up and brought her inside the fence.

As soon as Daryl put her down on the other tarp he went back to secure the gate. As he passed Glenn, he spoke. “Bury them in the morning.”

Glenn knew what he was thinking. Five years ago, his own passionate ultimatum. _We don't burn our people. We bury them._

Fuck those memories. All of them. 

Glenn looked at Javy, who was crying again next to Alice’s now shrouded body.

Then he looked at Daryl. "It’s not your problem." he said. _Say something. Just try me, motherfucker._

Glenn walked past him and into the building.

 

***

 

_Carl_

They had hid out in the maintenance building before, gleaning what weapons they could from among the hatchets, pruners, and pole saws. After rearranging the tractor and four-wheelers so that they could be easily moved to block the doors, they had pried up whatever wood was available to board the windows. 

What few possessions they still had were piled in a corner, stuffed in duffles and backpacks.  
Sara walked over to the pile and picked up the green army rucksack that had belonged to Tommy. She dug into it, and came up with a precious little stash of utility candle stubs, and a lighter. She held them out to Carl. "We should light a few of these. It’s getting pretty dark in here."

Carl looked around. Javy had shrugged him off as soon as they entered the building, and now had retreated to the shadows. Sophia, T-Dog and Daryl were in some sort of discussion near the door. And Glenn...

Glenn stared out between the boards on one of the windows, arms at his sides. The empty gun lay on the floor next to him. Carl walked over. "Hey."

No answer. He tried again. "Hey. Sara has Tommy's candle stash. Should we light some?"

Glenn continued looking out the window. "I don't care." 

Carl tried to think of a response - Glenn _always_ cared about the use of their resources, whether it was candles, scavenged food, or ammunition. "Shouldn't we...conserve, or something?"

"I don't see why it matters." Glenn shrugged. He looked across the gloomy building. "I'm sure the cavalry brought more supplies with them. Let them worry about it."

Carl followed Glenn's gaze to Sophia, T-Dog and Daryl. He knew what Glenn was seeing. "I'll ask them," he offered.

Glenn just gave him a flat stare. "You do that." He turned away from the window. "I'll be on the roof."

He was halfway up the ladder to the roof trap door before Carl spoke again. "Your gun's outta bullets."

"I'm done shooting things today." Carl almost cringed at the insensitive wording, and wanted to tell him hey, not cool - but Glenn was already out of earshot. He turned to Sara, still standing nearby holding the candles. "Sorry about that. He's...not himself."

She nodded. "Here. Take a couple so it's not so dark in here." She lit two candles and handed them over before putting the bag down. "Hang on."

Carl leaned in with the candles to shed some light on her rummaging. After a few minutes she came up with a couple of small oranges and some packages of candy. She held them out. "Tommy was saving these. I don't know, for a special occasion or something." She gave a hollow laugh. "See if anybody wants them."

"Thanks," Carl said, but she was already walking away, holding up a hand to acknowledge that she'd heard him. Tommy and Sara hadn't seemed particularly close - if anything, Tommy had harbored something of an unrequited crush on her, a former med student he considered completely out of his league. And she had rarely done more than joke with him, or share a bottle of water or half a precious cigarette. 

Now, she had tears in her eyes, and one of his t-shirts in her hand. Carl deliberately dropped his eyes to give her privacy.

Well. No reason to put it off any longer. He shielded the candle with one hand while he walked over to the others.

Daryl looked at him first. "Where'd you get those?"

"Sara." Carl didn't feel like elaborating. "You guys want something to eat?"

Sophia took an orange and started peeling it, and T-Dog took something as well. Daryl continued to stare at Carl. It weirded him out a little - even five years ago, Daryl had never seemed particularly friendly, even on a good day.

"Carl Grimes," Daryl said finally. 

Carl waited, but nothing else was forthcoming, so he answered. "Hey." Then he felt a little bit...impolite, or something, so he shifted things to his left hand and held out his right.

After a few seconds, Daryl shook it. He eyed something in the vicinity of Carl's belt. Daryl Dixon was clearly still a weirdo. Carl looked down at himself, puzzled.

His pistol. Daryl turned to Sophia. "You give him what was left of that brick of ammo?"

She looked guilty. "Shit. I forgot." She gave Carl a bit of an accusing look. "You ran off so fast - anyhow." She pulled a box out of the back of her pants. "Here. They're for my rifle, but since I don't have it here - they'll do you more good than they will me."

T-Dog chimed in. "You ran around with a box half-full of ammo stuck in your drawers?"

She gave him a look. "For your information, my pockets were already full of shotgun cartridges." 

Daryl snorted. "Lucky your pants didn't explode."

Carl tried not to notice the warmth from Sophia's body, emanating from the box of .22 ammo, or be shocked by the fact that they were making jokes. He put the rest of his things down, and focused on loading his pistol. 

Sophia watched over his shoulder, and made helpful suggestions. "I know what I'm doing," he told her shortly.

Before she could answer, Daryl was talking again. "You got a lookout posted?"

Carl nodded. "Glenn went up to the roof."

"With what, his super-night-vision-powers and a rocket launcher?"

A few minutes ago Carl had had his own opinions on the matter, but that didn’t mean Daryl Dixon got to be a sarcastic dillhole about it. "There's a moon tonight. Enough light for Glenn to give us plenty of advance warning if he sees something." 

Carl half expected Daryl to pursue it, but that seemed to satisfy him, about the lookout, anyhow. "Brings me to my next question. That much noise, that much blood - how come there ain't more of 'em comin'?" 

Sophia had been peering through the boards on the nearby window, and she nodded. "He's right. There's nothing." She bit her lip and looked at Carl. "Maybe you'd better tell him what you told us."

"Tell me what?" Daryl was rubbing his eyes, but he stopped long enough to glare at Carl. "This ain't the time to be witholdin' information the way your daddy used to, kid."

Jesus, how did Sophia and T-Dog put up with this guy? For that matter, how did Glenn ever...never mind. "Look," Carl managed to keep his voice level, but he could feel blood rushing to his face and was thankful for the dark room. "If you'll shut up a minute, I'll tell you why. But first - I know you and my dad didn't get along, but he's gone, and you're here, so you don't get to talk about him."

If he had expected an angry reaction, it wasn't forthcoming. Daryl was silent for several seconds, and then nodded. "All right."

Carl looked at Sophia and T-Dog, on either side of Daryl, both wearing expressions like they had also expected something else. Finally Sophia spoke. "Go on, Carl."

"Okay." Carl took a deep breath. "These walkers aren't like the ones you're used to. They don't just lurch around and go after whatever food's in the area."

"From what I saw, that's exactly what they do."

Carl shook his head. "Let me finish. Obviously, they still want to eat you. But they seem to have more sensory perception. They have better hearing and smell, possibly vision."

"So, again. Why ain't they overrunnin' this place?"

"They're waiting for a better opportunity."

Daryl blew this off. "Bullshit. They don't wait. They don't _think_. That one CDC doctor said that. It's basic brain functions. Automatic stuff."

"Look, I don't know what's happening in their brains, okay? But they do _something_. And it works better the more of them there are. It's like some sort of...hivemind, or something." Carl held up his hands as he could see Daryl about to interrupt him. "No, listen, I'm serious! We've seen it happen! They stalk people, like predators and prey. They try to cut off weaker members of a group. Stuff like that."

Sophia nudged Daryl. "I saw it too, I swear. When I ran into them at the picker cabins. They _hid_ from me, Daryl, until they thought I was vulnerable."

T-Dog nodded slowly. "And it fits what they did earlier, too. Went after the weaker group. Separated everybody. I'll bet they didn't go after Tommy until he ran out of bullets defending the others."

Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek, processing this. Then he looked at Carl again. "Is that it, then? Smarter walkers?"

Carl shook his head. "No. If you're vaccinated, don't expect it to save you once you get bit.” 

"Because you've seen that happen too, I take it?"

"Yeah. We lost several of our group that way - they thought they were safe, then got bit, and we saw them die and reanimate within hours."

"Great." Daryl rubbed his eyes again. "Well, it ain't like the vaccine ever did shit for me, anyhow." He turned to T-Dog. "We need to figure some things out." 

When Sophia moved to follow them, Daryl stopped her. "This window has a pretty good vantage point. Stay here."

"Glenn's already watching from the roof," Sophia protested.

"Glenn just lost two of his people. He probably ain't real focused right now." Carl tried to hear a critical tone in Daryl's words, but it wasn't there.

Sophia wasn't done arguing, though. "Carl can watch the window."

Daryl gave her a look. "Remember that discussion we had earlier? What you agreed to?"

Her nostrils flared, and she clamped her mouth shut. And nodded.

"Good." Daryl and T-Dog walked out of earshot.

Carl tried not to smile. Daryl had just done him a favor, not that he'd ever admit it. "I was half expecting you to punch him."

"Believe me. I wanted to." Her shoulders dropped a bit. "But he's right. I agreed to do whatever Daryl said, so they'd let me come on this job."

"You guys keep calling it a 'job'? What's up with that?"

Sophia shrugged. "That's what it is. When we first got to Cocoa a couple of years ago, it was still pretty full of walkers, and a lot of people weren't well-equipped to deal with them. So we went into business. I mean, it's basically all we'd been doing anyhow. I mean, just Daryl and T, at first. They cleaned walkers out of places, and people paid with what they had. Food, fuel, ammo. Fed Zone money, which isn't worth much as cash down there, but there are people who will convert it for you."

Carl had pulled a large tool chest under the window, and waited for Sophia to sit before he did the same. "Into what?"

"Whatever you want, and whatever they can. A lot of bargaining and negotiating goes on." She smiled. "My mom kind of ran the business end of it. She was good at that stuff."

"I bet she was." Not wanting her to slide into silence, Carl dug for any happy memory of Carol that he could find. "Her and mom used to set up school for us, remember? Back at the quarry outside Atlanta?" He grinned. "Your mom taught math, 'cause my mom sucked at it."

"Oh, my God. I'd forgotten about that." She leaned one shoulder against the window frame, propped up one leg on the tool chest, and rested her chin on her knee. "I really missed you, while I was gone."

 _Me too_ , Carl thought. He turned to face her, and propped up his knee as she had. His foot rested alongside hers. She was talking again, and he realized he hadn't answered. Ugh, so stupid. 

"Your mom, too," Sophia continued. "I mean, she was always sweet to me."

He nodded. "She liked you. A lot."

Sophia sighed. "Your dad saved my life, that one day. Did he know that?"

Carl thought hard. He could remember his dad blaming himself, over and over again, for Sophia going missing. Blaming himself for so many things. Then he realized something. "I, um. I don't actually remember you disappearing. I mean, I know it happened. But I kind of got shot, later that day. And I was unconscious and this doctor - I mean, he was a vet, actually, but yeah - we all ended up at their house, and he operated on me. I don't remember anything that happened the day you disappeared. I just woke up at this farmhouse a few days later. And everybody was there, except you."

"Mom told me about that. You almost died, right?"

"Yeah."

She smiled. "Well, I forgive you for not remembering that I went missing, then."

There was a long silence, and Carl felt like maybe he shouldn't ask. "What happened, while you were gone? Were you alone for a long time?"

She pursed her lips, thinking, not looking at him. 

"You don't have to tell me," he added quickly. "If you don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, it isn't all that tragic of a story. I mean, I'm alive and in one piece, right?" She took a deep breath. "And there really isn't that much to tell. I ran when your dad told me to stay put, which was stupid. Wandered around in the woods for a few days. I'd climb trees when walkers were around. Hid in some little shack for a few days. Then when I was trying to find my way back to the highway, some people picked me up." She shrugged. "They were going south, and they took me with them."

"And Daryl found you, later?"

"Sort of. We’d been on the road a long time, and stopped at some kind of fairgrounds. People had gathered there, using it for some kind of big trading post, or something." The corner of her mouth turned up. "I was robbing campsites, because that's what all the kids did. We were supposed to steal food, weapons, earn our keep, you know?" 

Carl didn't, not really. He'd been sheltered by the people of their group. But he nodded anyhow.

"Well, Daryl saw us going through someone's stuff. I guess he could tell we were up to something, and he scared the rest of the kids away and grabbed me."

"Wow."

"Yeah. And he was like, 'Come on, your mom's with us, let's go!' And I didn't believe him, and I mean, from what I remembered, he was a little scary, you know?" She picked at a peeling piece of the duct tape that held her boots together. "But it wasn't like the other kids stuck around to help me, and none of them really cared what happened to me anyhow. So Daryl dragged me back to my mom and T-Dog."

"And then you believed him."

"Well, yeah, obviously." She turned to stare past the window boards again. "It was weird for awhile. I mean, I hadn't seen them in a year. I was so mad at them, for not finding me."

"They really tried." Carl had been flat on his back in bed most of the time, but he still remembered it. "Daryl especially. He got hurt really bad looking for you."

She nodded. "I know. Let's talk about something else."

Carl wracked his brain for some other topic of conversation, other than the goosebumps along her bare arms. Wait a second.

"Are you cold? I've got a flannel in my bag, I can get it for you-"

She shook her head. "No. I'm just...I'm tired. Would you watch the window for awhile?"

He nodded.

"And maybe..." she pushed at him a little. For a second he thought she wanted him to get off the tool chest, but when he tried to move, she grabbed his arm. "No. Stay here. Just sit still." She maneuvered him a bit.

Carl wasn't sure how it happened, but he ended up looking out the window, with Sophia sort of tucked against his side. Under his arm. There was no way in hell she couldn't hear - no, _feel_ his heart thudding against his ribcage.

"That's better," she said.

Hell yeah it was better. His hand rested on her arm, and he couldn't figure out how to just let it _sit_ there. He ran his thumb experimentally across the skin above her elbow. It was crusty with dirt and dried blood. "We should clean this up."

"Later. I'm sort of comfortable now." He felt her take a deep breath and settle against him. How he could possibly be so aware of another person's body made no sense at all.

"Okay." Like there was any other answer.

"You think Glenn's going to be all right?"

Glenn? Right, Glenn was on the roof, most definitely not okay at the moment. "I...think so. We've lost people before, but Tommy and Alice had both been with us a long time. He probably feels responsible." Carl remembered he was also supposed to be watching out the window, and tried to focus on something, anything in the pale moonlight. "It probably didn't help him to see Daryl again, after what went down."

He felt Sophia tense a little bit. _Oh, shit_. His big fucking mouth.

"After _what_ went down?"

Carl swallowed and didn't answer.

"You don't mean Tommy and Alice, do you."

Should he tell her? It wasn't like he even knew the whole story himself. A vivid memory of the bright, homey interior of the Greene farmhouse came back to him.

_"Glenn!" Carl sits up in bed. The healing gunshot wound doesn't even hurt...much. Finally! "Mom said I can go outside if someone comes with me! Will you?"_

_"Hey, Carl, you're looking good." Glenn comes into the room. "Maybe in a few minutes - I need to go upstairs and...talk to somebody."_

_Carl makes a puzzled face. That red-haired girl is outside with the horses. Dr. Greene is downstairs with dad. "Who's upstairs?"_

_Glenn opens his mouth and closes it a few times before answering. "Daryl. He got hurt looking for Sophia yesterday, and they're letting him use a bedroom for a day or two." Glenn looks up the staircase. "He'll be okay, though."_

_Daryl got hurt? Like anything hurts that guy. "Did he find Sophia?" Please, please let him have found her. Carl will start saying his prayers again, he promises to himself._

_Glenn looks sad. "No. Sorry, Carl."_

_"Oh." Carl looks down at the bandage around his middle. "Why do you gotta talk to him?"_

_Glenn takes off his hat and crunches it around in his hands. Twists it. "I think we kind of had a misunderstanding. I hurt his feelings."_

_"You hurt Daryl's feelings?" If not for the way he'd acted about his brother, Carl would be sure Daryl didn't have feelings. "You must've really said something mean."_

_Glenn bites his lip. "Yeah. Something like that."_

_Carl wants to go outside. Badly. "I think he's asleep. You should check again after we go outside."_

_"He’s asleep, huh? You didn't even know he was in the house a second ago," Glenn sort of laughs. He takes one more look up the staircase, and then turns and grabs Carl's shirt off the back of a chair. "Let’s get this on you. We wouldn't want to shock anyone with your scarred torso."_

"Carl?" Sophia's voice brought him back to the present.

He shook off the memory. “Yeah?”

“What did you mean, about something that went down between Glenn and Daryl?” 

Damn. There had to be a way to sort of soft-pedal it. “Do you remember when we were at the CDC in Atlanta?”

“That place where we almost got blown up? No, I forgot about that, Carl.”

“Very funny.” He pinched her arm. Gently. “Remember when we all sat around after dinner, and the grownups were all kind of getting drunk?”

She laughed a little. “Yeah. Dale started everybody playing some game. With wine.” She shifted under Carl’s arm. “I think I remember Daryl saying stuff to Glenn about Chinese people and ping pong.” She put a hand over her face. “God, he was really terrible. Not that he’s improved a great deal. So they had some big fight, or something?”

Carl knew he should really gloss over this, but he didn’t want to lie. “Not a fight. Something.” He waited for her to figure out what he meant.

She got very, very still. “No way. No fucking way.”

“Yes way. Glenn told me, okay?”

At this, she pulled away and sat up, and Carl cursed himself for handling the situation all wrong. “Shut up. You were what, ten? And he told you about him and Daryl...” she dropped her voice to a whispery hiss. “Doing, like, _sexual stuff_?” 

He rolled his eyes. “He told me like, a year ago, in the middle of some horrible birds-and-bees-lecture gone wrong. And he didn’t give any details. Just that they hooked up.” 

She stared into his eyes, and then smiled, shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit. I almost believed you for a second.”

“You should believe me now. I’m not lying.” It seemed pretty obvious she wasn’t going to lean against him again, so Carl shifted himself into a more comfortable position. “Ask him about it, if you think I’m lying.”

“Riiiight. Because there’s a good way to bring _that_ up.”

Carl shrugged. “Believe me, don’t believe me. It’s true. Something went on between them at the CDC, and then they had some kind of fight, and Glenn stayed behind at the Greene’s with Maggie while the rest of us went ahead to Fort Benning. Ask him about that,” Carl suggested. “Ask Daryl why he didn’t stick around to say goodbye to Glenn when we all left. Ask him why he wouldn’t wait when he knew Glenn was meeting up with us later. He left with your mom and T-Dog a week before Glenn got to Fort Benning.”

Sophia crossed her arms. “Fine. I’ll ask him.”

She didn’t say anything else, and leaned against the window frame, lost in thought. Carl didn’t like feeling like she was somehow mad at him, but hey, it wasn’t his fault she didn’t want to believe him.

Eventually, she dozed off. Carl fished a package of Tommy’s candy out of his pocket, and ate it quietly as her head slipped to his shoulder.

 

***

_Glenn_

_Who knew the CDC would have a game room? Of course, Dale manages to find ping pong balls. Sadly, beer pong doesn’t work as well with wine. In wine glasses. T-Dog breaks one. Daryl breaks two, and calls it a pussyass frat boy game, and asks Glenn if he likes it because he was a pussyass frat boy._

_Glenn bounces another ball into a glass, and says he likes it because Daryl sucks at it. He half expects to get smacked in the head, but instead Daryl just stands behind him the next time he’s up, and makes Glenn miss his shot. By breathing on him. Just standing there and breathing whiskey fumes on the back of Glenn’s neck._

_The game gets old - it’s a valiant effort, for a little while, to pretend they are all actually safe and okay. But by now, the second phase of the alcohol is setting in, the phase where you either need to start drinking hardcore, or go to bed. Preferably with somebody. And that’s not happening, so Glenn decides to go to his room. Maybe take another shower. Why not, right?_

_Wrong. He’s just taken his shirt off when someone’s hammering on his door. Glenn would ignore it, but it could be important. And it’s very loud._

_And it’s Daryl. He’s still got the bottle of whiskey. “Oh, no. You ain’t done, Chinese Pizza Man. Not by a long shot.” He takes a swig and hands over the bottle. “Let’s do this. We’re gonna get shitfaced.”_

_Glenn takes it. Daryl looks like he decided to come over in the middle of undressing. He’s barefoot, and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s still in his pants, fortunately. Or...no. Definitely fortunately._

_Glenn takes a swallow. He’s not a very big fan of whiskey, but it’s not terrible. Daryl is...what. Daryl is actually smiling at him._

_Glenn hands back the bottle. “I think this stuff improves your personality.”_

_Daryl shrugs. “Probably.” He doesn’t seem too interested in what Glenn has implied about his pre-alcohol personality. “I’m bored.”_

_Glenn has cards in his bag. So they play poker, but it’s shitty with two people, and Daryl comes up with this rule where he gets to punch Glenn in the arm when he wins a hand. It makes Glenn play better, and he makes a rule where he gets to ask Daryl geography questions when he wins a hand._

_He asks Daryl which is larger, China or Korea, and Daryl gives him this look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and says does it matter, ‘cause they’re both full of tiny little people anyhow?_

_That’s it. Glenn launches himself over the cards and lands on top of Daryl, and pins him. “There, that feel like tiny little people to you?”_

_Daryl isn’t fighting back, really, but he grunts and shifts. “Maybe you’re only half-Korean. Maybe your daddy was like, a panda bear or something.”_

_It’s an insult, but it’s the most ridiculous one ever. “Pandas? Actually *are* from China.” Glenn starts laughing. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”_

_“I heard that a few times,” Daryl shrugs, his shoulders still pinned to the carpet._

_Glenn watches what the movement does to his bare chest. Out of curiosity and bad decision-making and booze, he lets go of one wrist to touch a flat, narrow scar on Daryl’s ribs._

_Daryl raises his head to look, as if he doesn’t remember his own scars. Glenn opens his mouth to ask, but Daryl speaks instead. “Fuck, man. You knocked over the bottle. What’re we gonna do now?”_

_Things. All kinds of things. While Glenn is busy thinking of about six of them, Daryl breaks his hold, grabs his arms, and flips him over. So now their positions are reversed. Daryl definitely does not feel like tiny little people. He’s heavy, and he’s got a thigh between Glenn’s legs and he’s gripping Glenn’s wrists tight enough to hurt and it occurs to Glenn that if things get weird enough to Daryl, he just might murder Glenn and stuff his body in the closet._

_Daryl drops his head closer to Glenn’s. It’s like a predator wanting a closer look at his prey, or a nice long sniff of it. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”_

_Daryl Dixon gives a shit what he’s thinking about? Neutrality. He is Switzerland. “I’m thinking that if we’re wrestling, I’m supposed to say uncle right about now, and you’re supposed to let me up.”_

_Longest silence ever. Uncle, uncle, uncle, Glenn thinks in his head. Not uncle. Don’t want to be let up, not at all. There is no way Daryl can be aware of what he’s doing, the way he moves, the way he stares at Glenn’s mouth. “What if we ain’t wrestlin’, then?”_

_If he’s got to die, there are worse ways. “Then don’t let me up.” He flexes his hands, shifts._

_Daryl is a bad kisser. Of course. Glenn could have predicted this. It’s probably the booze, or the fact that he’s never kissed a guy before, or another person, who knows with Daryl._

_Glenn could not have predicted how good it would feel. All teeth and too much spit. Nice. Daryl bites him on the chin, on the neck. It’s like being seduced by a badger. They roll all over the carpet, bang knees and elbows on furniture. At one point Glenn’s on his stomach and Daryl is draped over his back with an arm tight around his neck, and this could be that murder thing he was worried about, except that he can feel hard dick against his ass, bumping and rubbing, while Daryl bites his shoulder, and fuck. Fuck._

_They spend so much time just messing around that Glenn’s on edge, he could come in his pants if he could ignore the rug burns on his back and his elbows. Daryl holds his face in place while he kisses him. Daryl is not interested in being thwarted, oh, no. But maybe that’s all it’s going to be, making out, dry-humping like teenagers at church camp. And that’s fine. It’s worth it._

_Finally he unzips Daryl’s pants the rest of the way, and puts Daryl’s own hand in there for him. “Come on. Get yourself off. I wanna watch.”_

_But, that doesn’t last very long. Daryl starts, but he won’t look at Glenn while he does it and Glenn keeps kissing him, and then he’s moving down Daryl’s body, barely stopping anywhere interesting, even nipples or the scar, and he pushes Daryl’s hand away and goes down on him. It lasts long enough for his jaw to start to ache and his tongue to start to swell, and of course, Daryl doesn’t even push him off because that would be something sort of courteous. He comes in Glenn’s mouth, and, what the hell, Glenn swallows. Why not?_

_Should’ve thought about the next part. Because now Daryl’s sort of out of it, and Glenn’s not sure if the orgasm knocked the gay experimentation right out of him and now he’s not even going to tolerate Glenn finishing himself off in the same room, or something. He palms his hard-on, to see what kind of reaction that gets. The Switzerland neutral version of don’t-feel-like-you-have-to-reciprocate-I’ll-take-care-of-it._

_But you can’t be Switzerland when Daryl is pure blitzkreig. He pulls Glenn down, pushes him around, and they end up with Glenn on his knees on the bed, plastered face-first against the wall, with Daryl behind him, one arm around his chest and the other hand fisting his dick. Daryl even has the forethought to spit in his hand first._

_Glenn almost wishes Daryl could think of things to say, because all other times he’s so crudely eloquent that his dirty talk would be fucking fantastic. But he’s busy with his mouth - while he’s giving Glenn that rough hand job, he’s got his teeth sunk into Glenn’s shoulder again._

_Until Glenn’s so close he wants to scream. Then Daryl grabs him by the hair and turns Glenn’s head so hard his neck creaks. He kisses him, thrusts his tongue into Glenn’s mouth, rolling it through that coating of spunk, and Glenn comes helplessly all over Daryl’s fist._

_It’s devastating, exhausting. When Daryl lets him collapse to the bed, Glenn can’t even move to kick his pants the rest of the way off. He lies there, waiting for something, like maybe Daryl will just let himself out? Maybe now he’ll have some commentary about Asian dick?_

_Glenn feels the bed shift next to him. After a moment, he turns, and Daryl is lying right there next to him. He hasn’t left. He has no insults._

_“Was that okay?”_

_He looks unsure of himself, and unsure if Glenn wants him to stay._

_Glenn has no idea how Daryl can rut like a beast of the field and then ask that. He’s the most confusing person, ever. And Glenn wants him to stay, at least a little bit longer._

_“Better than okay.” Glenn makes room on the small bed, and Daryl figures out the blankets. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, but they fit._

_In the morning, his mouth tastes like sawdust and yeast, and his head aches like it’s being squeezed in a vise._

_And Daryl is already gone._

Glenn shook his head. For a second he thought he’d seen walkers shambling out of the woods. But on a second, closer look, there was nothing. Just moonlight on scrubby pines, and the patch of blood-darkened dirt where Alice’s body had lain.

It’s time he had someone else come up and take a watch. T-Dog or Sophia. Anyone who has fresh eyes, even Carl.

Or Daryl. Glenn could deal with him, especially if he was helping keep everyone alive. Survival always was Daryl's specialty. 

When Glenn had arrived alone at the remains of Fort Benning, he had been expecting...something. He was going to have to talk to Daryl, apologize, work something out, whatever was necessary. He was going to do it. But Daryl had left already, with Carol and T-Dog, Rick told him.

"I understand if you want to try to catch up with them," Rick had said. "I'd give anything to have you stay with us. But I understand, if you need to go." So Rick had known, somehow.

Glenn hadn't gone. He was hurt, and angry, but it was so hard to look into Rick's desperate face. To look at Lori, with her pregnant belly standing out from her skinny frame. To stop hugging Carl, who had run right up to him and didn't want to let go. So he stayed, stayed with the people who wanted him.

While Daryl moved on. With T-Dog and Carol, and then Sophia. T-Dog apparently had a girlfriend or wife or something, but Daryl and Carol...obviously they'd been raising Sophia together. Had there been more to it than that?

He had bigger things to worry about now. Like making sure Carl made it out of here alive. Hell, all six...no. All four of them. 

There was a scraping noise behind him, and he scrambled to his feet. By the time T-Dog's bald head appeared at the roof trap door, Glenn's heart was pounding.

"Calm down, it's just me." T-Dog's voice was quiet, like he knew Glenn was on edge. "I won't ask if you're okay, because I know you're not."

Glenn nodded. "Thanks." Actually, his legs felt a little wobbly - he'd freaked out thinking about who might be coming up to the roof. He was going to have to really get a grip.

T-Dog noticed. "Sit down, man." When Glenn did it, T-Dog sat down next to him. He handed over a package of some kind of candy. Glenn read the box. _Mike and Ike's_. God, those had to be more than five years old and rock hard. He tore into them anyhow.

"Sara gave that to Carl, out of Tommy's bag."

Glenn tried to pry his teeth out of the fruity cement that now stuck them together. "Tommy was our scrounger. He'd find all kinds of stuff - food, batteries, cigarettes." He gave up and stuck a finger in his mouth to dislodge the candy. "Box of condoms one time."

T-Dog grinned. "For you?"

"For Carl, if that's not totally horrifying. There was this girl with us last year, older, pretty cute - " Glenn paused to swallow the wad of sugary goo. "And Carl was into her, and for awhile it looked like love was in the air, but..." 

He saw the smile fade form T-Dog's face. Surely, he knew how that story ended.

"Anyhow. I was trying to give him the safety-first lecture, and Tommy was giving him pointers. Really detailed ones. Poor Carl. I thought he was going to pass out from embarrassment." Glenn couldn't help it, he laughed along with T-Dog. 

"Well, apparently he picked up a thing or two," T-Dog said. "He's been chattin' up our girl down there."

Glenn wasn't surprised, after watching Carl make cow-eyes at her all afternoon. "Yeah, I'll have to warn him."

T-Dog waved this off. "What, you think Daryl will get all protective? He's pretty impressed by Carl, no worries there. Already likes him better than he likes any of her hangs back home."

This wasn't surprising. Carl was a good kid, turning out more like his father every day. "I'm far more worried about Carl than about anything Daryl Dixon thinks." Bitterness soaked his words. "I realize there aren't many options out there, but he deserves someone who cares as much as he does."

"Hey, now," T-Dog's voice was quiet again. "Sophia would never hurt Carl. I mean, she's got as much flighty teenager in her as any of 'em do, but-" he leaned closer, looking into Glenn's face before he could turn out of the moonlight. "What's this all about?"

Glenn didn't answer.

And, he didn't have to. "Oh," T-Dog said finally. 

Glenn lost what little appetite he'd had for the candy. "Yeah. Oh."

They were quiet for a long time, and Glenn thought had safely passed, but like picking a scab, he couldn't leave it alone. "So, were Daryl and Carol...?" he stopped, hating how pathetic it sounded.

T-Dog gave a little laugh. "Nah. They were close, but it wasn't like that." He looked thoughtful. "Carol _got_ him, somehow. Which is more than you could say for the rest of us. He's never not been a pain in the ass with me. And him and Sophia - well, you saw how that works. She's picked up too many of his personality traits for the two of them to get along perfect all the time."

That much, Glenn had seen. "She even moves like he used to," he said, remembering her as she found T-Dog's trail to the truck, earlier. "It's eerie."

"Yeah. After he found her again, we promised Carol that no matter what happened, Sophia'd be able to take care of herself." T-Dog nodded. "Daryl took that promise real seriously. Taught her everything he knows." He grinned. "Even stuff she probably _shouldn't_ know."

It was so much to take in. Part of Glenn had wanted to think that Daryl had run off to God knew where, not caring about anything or anybody. Surviving. Being a professional badass. And yes, he'd done half of that. But he'd also managed to do right by people, to take care of them. And, apparently, let them care for him. "Both you and Sophia would do anything for him, wouldn't you."

T-Dog didn't hesitate. He nodded. "He's family. For better or worse." He gave a startled little laugh. "Damn. Imagine me sayin' that."

Five years of silent heartache were hard to hold back. "Why didn't you guys wait to leave Rick and everyone? Why couldn't you have just waited _one more week_? Can you tell me that?" Glenn swallowed against the thickness in his throat. 

And then he had to sit there and hate the way T-Dog was looking at him. "I don't know, man. It was just how it happened." T-Dog flicked a couple of the abandoned pieces of candy with one big finger. "For what it's worth, Daryl didn't seem quite like he was all there. I'm not sure I would've even gone with him, but...he seemed crazy. Angry. More so than usual. And I wasn't lettin' him go off like that. I owed him." He looked at Glenn. "Carol felt that way too. She didn't want him to go alone."

_"So. You're gonna stay here. I get it. You gonna keep tryin' to pretend you ain't fuckin' her?" Daryl hasn't once been willing to say Maggie's name, but there's venom to spare in his tone._

_"It's temporary! She doesn't want to leave her dad right now. She-" Glenn realizes he's waving his arms trying to get it through Daryl's thick skull. He wants to grab him and shake him, and more. "We're coming. We're meeting you at Fort Benning."_

_But Daryl is stuck on the first part of Glenn's protest. "Temporary? Which part? The stayin' here part? Or the fuckin' her part?" He leans in, eyes narrow. That mean, viperish look he gets sometimes. " 'Cause that wouldn't be hard at all, would it? Got this farm, got a piece of ass, all you gotta do is let 'em dangle you down some wells now 'n again-"_

_He hasn't even thought it through that far. He just wants Maggie safe, and he wants to get back to the rest of them. The other stuff, with her, with Daryl - fuck. It's hard. Why does it have to be like this? But he's not going to back down. Daryl doesn't get to have the high road._

_"What do you care, Daryl? You've gone out of your way...twice, three times, no...FOUR fucking times, to tell me to forget it. Nothing happened at the CDC. I'm having delusions. To quote you, 'It ain't nothin'." Glenn mimics Daryl's cadences perfectly, because Daryl's voice goes through his head all the time. "Sometimes I think you're just playing dumb, and you say it that way because it actually *is* something, and you know it." What the hell, might as well go for it. "I remember after I got out of that well, you hauled me out in the woods and kicked my ass. For you that's like saying you love me, Daryl. Say it with your fist, say it with your dick, it's probably all the same to you!"_

"Glenn." T-Dog's voice penetrated the memory, even if it didn't quite make the sting of it go away. 

“Yeah,” Glenn answered quickly, so it wouldn’t seem like he was lost in five-year-old regret again.

“Why don’t you let me watch for awhile? Go inside and get some rest while you can.” T-Dog put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

Glenn nodded. “Right. I’m having a hard time staying awake at this point anyhow.” He got up, and rubbed at a stiff section of his back. “Thanks for coming up.”

“No problem.” T-Dog had settled himself at a corner of the roof, the spot with the best view of the surrounding area. And, Glenn?”

Glenn had the trap door open and had just put a foot on the ladder, but he stopped and looked back. 

“Daryl and me talked earlier about what needs to happen tomorrow. You might want to, you know - “ T-Dog made a gesture. “So we’re all on the same page.”

Glenn closed his eyes and sighed. “Because you couldn’t have gotten me on the same page since you came up here?” The universe was conspiring to make him have a conversation with Daryl Dixon.

T-Dog shrugged. “Hey, he’s the boss. He comes up with the plans, I just argue with the stuff that’s extra-stupid.” His smile was bright in the moonlight. “I’m the voice of reason in our little operation, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Right,” Glenn muttered, and sent himself down the ladder into the gloom of the building. Well, it wasn’t like he had to go right over to Daryl and see what was up. He looked around, until he saw a couple of huddled shapes in a corner.

Sara’s face was lit by the stub of a candle. She was sitting cross-legged, one of Tommy’s books in her lap. Javy lay on his side next to her. They both appeared to be dozing, but when Glenn’s footsteps made something skid across the floor, Sara’s eyes opened.

Glenn watched the awareness of the past few hours dawn on her all over again. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he replied. “You need anything?” When she shook her head, he gestured at Javy. “How long’s he been asleep?”

She looked down at him. “I don’t know. He cried for the longest time.”

From the streaked dirt on Sara’s face, she’d been doing her own share of crying. Glenn couldn’t think of anything else to say, and was about to leave them alone, but she jerked her chin across the room. Towards Daryl, who was using a flashlight to check out the tractor. “How do you know those people?”

Her question made Glenn realize that he’d never talked about them before, to this group. He’d spoken of Rick and Lori - hell, Sara was newer to his group, but the others had known Rick. And Glenn had spoken of other people who had been with them before - Shane Walsh, who disappeared one night not long after Lori died, with half their weapons and ammo. Dale Horvath, who tried to talk Rick and Glenn and Carl into driving north, where he had heard the country’s infrastructure was recovering faster. They hadn’t gone, but Andrea had.

Carl had talked about Sophia sometimes, but the others were ghosts to them. Glenn watched Daryl poking around in the tractor’s engine. Ghosts and memories that you never expected to see, except in your dreams. Or nightmares.

“They were part of the group I joined when I left Atlanta, in the early days of the plague,” Glenn replied. “I never thought I’d see any of them again.”

Sara nodded. “They seem okay. Like they can handle themselves.” She was quiet for a moment, and then she looked at him. Hopeful. “Do you think they’ll let us stick with them?”

 _Not in a million years_. Glenn wasn’t sure if that was his own opinion, or what he assumed would be Daryl’s. And yet, he could see how it might make the others feel more hopeful. New people, with more guns and ammo, with vehicles, even. People who had a place somewhere, who might be willing to team up, if they thought you had something to offer.

And, what did _they_ have to offer? It hit Glenn like a tanker - he and Carl and the others would have a better chance if they stuck with...what did T-Dog call the company earlier? DDP? They would have a chance, period. Glenn would have to suck it up, maybe swallow some of his pride, but still. It would be worth it if they all got through this alive.

Now the only question was making them seem like the four of them weren’t just dead weight - they could contribute. And Daryl was going to be the sticking point, there, because obviously, he wouldn’t want any dead weight around. 

He looked at Sara. “Maybe,” he answered. “I’ll bring it up.”

She looked over Glenn’s shoulder, and he instinctively knew who she was looking at. “That guy doesn’t seem very friendly.”

“He’s not. But we used to know each other, so.” Glenn shrugged. He had to try, for Carl’s sake. And because the others depended on him.

He stood up. Well, there was really no point to putting it off anymore. This had to happen. 

Daryl’s face, still focused on the innards of the tractor, was illuminated by the glow of the flashlight he was holding. Glenn could see him clearly, deep in thought - it was something he’d often thought other people who knew Daryl took for granted, that he wasn’t actually thinking about something all the time. That because he talked like a redneck and acted mean he wasn’t very smart. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

Glenn studied Daryl’s face. He looked the same, somehow. Maybe a few more lines around his eyes. Maybe darker circles under them. But it was almost painful, how similar he looked to five years ago. The most unusual thing was his faded workshirt, which actually had sleeves - rolled up just enough to expose his sinewy forearms. Glenn almost found himself smiling when he remembered something Rick Grimes had said, years ago, how sleeves were probably like kryptonite to Daryl, and if he had them he’d suddenly start missing his targets and using proper grammar.

So far, that didn’t seem to be the case. The grammar was still bad and the aim was still good, and now, crap - Daryl was looking at him, and of course Glenn hadn’t had ample time to prepare for that sharp gaze.

“Um. T-Dog’s taking a watch.” Glenn wished he could smack his head against something. That was _not_ the good, confident start he’d wanted.

Daryl’s expression didn’t change - as in, he still didn’t have one - but he nodded. “He thought it was a good idea, that you needed a break.” 

Glenn walked closer, until he was standing on the opposite side of the tractor. “Yeah.”

The pause before Daryl spoke again was too long, and Glenn kept wracking his brain for something else to say. Finally Daryl clicked off the flashlight, and Glenn lost the details of his face. 

“Take a break, then,” Daryl said. “I’ll go up next.” He turned to walk away, but stopped when something caught his eye, and Glenn looked past him to see what it was.

Carl and Sophia, curled up together under a window. It didn’t so much look intentional; rather, they had melted together in their sleep, and both of them were going to wake up with sore shoulders and cricks in the neck.

Glenn heard a snort, and he realized that Daryl had laughed, or close to it. “So much for tellin’ her to keep watch at that window,” he said. “Walkers coulda been climbin’ in over their heads by now.”

“She’s tired,” Glenn said. “Carl too. Think of what kind of day this has been.” 

Of course, that was unreasonable. 

“Except that she’s got a _job_ to do,” Daryl replied. “Carl don’t. He can sleep ‘til noon tomorrow for all I care. But I need her sharp, and she knows it.” He turned on the flashlight, and shone it into Sophia’s sleeping face.

“Then let her _sleep_ a few minutes, Jesus!” Before he could rethink it, Glenn had reached out and grabbed the flashlight out of Daryl’s hand and turned it off. “Give her like, a half hour. Because I need to talk to you, whether you like it or not.” There, he’d gotten it out.

This time, Daryl shined the flashlight in Glenn’s face, and when he tried to grab it again, held it away. “There ain’t shit I like about any part of this situation, and I’m not overly concerned about you needin’ to talk to me, either,” Daryl finally switched off the light. “Morning’s gonna be here soon enough, and I got enough to worry about.”

“Like what?” Glenn wasn’t sure it would keep him talking, but it was worth a try.

“Like goin’ back for my Jeep, and gettin’ my truck out of the mud. But ain’t none of it your problem.”

“Humor me.” Glenn was betting on Daryl’s argumentativeness to win. “Which one are you going after first?”

“I don’t know. The Jeep. You feel any more humored, now?” 

Perfect. “Bad idea. The walkers tend to cluster more out here than they do in towards the orchards, or on open ground. You’re better off going for the truck first.”

Daryl made a frustrated sound. “Except the truck’s axle deep in mud. Jeep has a winch, I can pull the truck out with it.”

“You got more weapons in the Jeep?”

“No, I came out here with my bow and my good intentions,” Daryl practically sneered. But he gave up the information anyhow. “Got another shotgun, two rifles, couple more pistols, more ammo.”

Excellent. This just kept getting better. “I’ve got a proposal for you, then.” He waited for Daryl to refuse it out of hand, to tell him to shut up, get the hell out of there, leave him alone, something along those lines.

But Daryl didn’t. Glenn couldn’t see his face well, but he could imagine Daryl having some kind of internal argument, about the merits of listening to Glenn, who was more familiar with the terrain and the habits of the walkers, versus the satisfaction of telling him to go fuck himself.

“This oughta be good,” he said finally. 

Glenn took a deep breath. “Okay. Take someone with you to get the Jeep. Meet back up here, get everyone armed, and then go get the truck.” When Daryl didn’t say anything, Glenn continued building his plan. “We make this building kind of a base of operations, since it has a fence and a good lookout point, and we’ve got some water stored in the back-”

“Hold on, back up,” now Daryl was listening. Now the argument would really get started. “The hell’s all this ‘we’ shit?” He shook his head. “Lemme explain something to you. What I’m doing here? Is my job. Not yours. And you and your people aren’t part of my job, at least, not in any way you wanna be. Trust me on that one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Glenn had expected Daryl’s patience to run out sooner rather than later, and sure enough. Daryl grabbed Glenn’s arm and pushed him up against the tractor. As soon as he did it, though, he pulled his hand away like Glenn’s skin had burned him. Which was nothing compared to how it felt to Glenn.

“It means that the guy who owns this land? Don’t see you as any better than the walkers! He good as told us to kill anybody we found. Anybody. Living or dead.”

Glenn wasn’t totally surprised. He’d seen ranch hands shoot some of his group already, that was nothing new. But suddenly, something clicked in his head. “The walkers. They _are_ different! That’s what this is all about!”

“It ain’t about nothin’, it don’t _mean_ nothin’. That’s your problem. Everything’s gotta mean somethin’. Well, this don’t. This is a guy who wants to have power, and if you’re in his way you’re shit outta luck. Same as it always been, even before there _were_ walkers.”

Normally, Glenn would concede this point, but now he was sure. “No, Daryl, listen! Calley had a convoy in here about a few months ago. Unmarked trucks and vans. Guys in biohazard suits. We saw them sometimes.”

Daryl gave a dismissive gesture and started to turn away. “Quit bein’ dramatic. That don’t change anything, it just-”

“Listen!” Now it was Glenn’s turn to grab hold of Daryl, and he got a handful of shirt, and didn’t let go. “Let me finish. They sprayed. Not the fruit trees. Just something out into the air. And after that, the walkers started to change. They were faster. Their senses were improved. They would sometimes work together to pick people off, flank them, surround them. Not like a mob, like a _team_ , or something. And after that, when someone who’d been vaccinated got bit...they still turned.” 

Daryl now had a hand around Glenn’s fingers on his shirt, squeezing, but he was still listening, so Glenn soldiered on. “It’s got to be something the Feds were testing, don’t you see? A new strain of the virus. To use as a weapon. Because that’s what they _do_. It’s why the virus exists in the first place!”

Daryl looked like he didn’t want to go along with the idea, but he spoke. “And now that most everybody’s vaccinated, they need a stronger virus. Is that it?”

“Yes. It’s like you said. Things are the same as they always were.”

Glenn could see Daryl’s eyes in the gloom, and wished he knew what Daryl was thinking.

He wished he could pull his hand away, but as long as Daryl held him there, it was impossible. 

“That all may be true. But it don’t change anything here.” Daryl finally seemed to realize he was still touching Glenn, and let his hand drop before pulling away from Glenn’s grip. “If we’re gonna finish this job, you and your people need to get out of here. In the morning.”

Glenn could sense his plan falling apart. “What if we don’t?”

“Then you’re not safe. Simple as that.” 

The implication spoke louder than the words did. “And you’d kill us? You’d kill Carl, because Calley’s paying you to?” Glenn dropped his voice lower. “You’d kill me? Is that really how it is?” He leaned in. He could play dirty if he had to. “What do you think T-Dog would have to say about that? Or Sophia?” He turned and pointed to Sophia and Carl where they still slept. “You may have been raising her the last few years, but it’s obvious, she’s a better person than that.” 

“You leave her out of this.” Daryl gave Glenn a little shove.

“She’s _part_ of this. Do you care if she’s safe? Do you?” Glenn’s voice was getting louder again, and he didn’t care. “Because I care about getting Carl out of here alive. I made a promise. I will keep it if it kills me.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “So. Some promises you do keep.” 

He might as well have punched Glenn in the gut. Glenn couldn’t breathe for a minute. He stared at Daryl through a haze of red. “You _left_. Twice. What did you want me to do?”

Daryl’s jaw twitched, as though he was clenching it, over and over. Finally he spoke. “Nothin’. I didn’t want nothin’ from you, and I still don’t.”

“Fine.” Well, he’d buggered this one up pretty good. “Tomorrow, we’ll leave you to attend to your _business_.” He tried to come up with some sort of leverage to use, and failed. “I’m going to ask T-Dog and Sophia if they’ll let us borrow a couple of guns. We can arrange to leave them somewhere off the ranch and you can pick them up again. And you can go ahead and tell them not to give me anything, but I don’t think they’ll listen.”

Daryl shrugged, indifference firmly settled on his shoulders again. “Whatever. Be my guest.”  
He turned away.

“You know, I wish I knew what they see in you.” Glenn said. Daryl stopped walking. “I used to see something, but I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.” Glenn waited for a reply and got none, so he turned and walked back towards the corner where Javy and Sara were. 

It may have been the longest walk of his life.

 

***

 

_Daryl_

He was going to _shoot something_. So, these walkers were stronger, faster, smarter, what the fuck-ever? Fine. He could use the practice.

It had been easy enough to grab his bow and slide out of the maintenance building, after Glenn walked away and started giving him a cold shoulder he could practically taste. Nobody was paying any attention to him at that point. Glenn was huddled with his people, Sophia and Carl were _asleep_ , and goddamn if she wasn't going to hear about that later.

And so was T-Dog, since Daryl managed to leave right under his nose. What, was he sleeping too, up on the roof? Oh, yes, he was going to take those two to task after they got done with this job. Too bad he couldn't fire them.

It should have felt good, to be out there alone, following his own trail back to the jeep. The darkness and an uneasy stillness to the air made it a little bit of a challenge. Not enough, though. Not enough to make his hands stop itching for a fight. Not enough to keep his brain still.

Like this job wasn't already complicated enough, what with the client expecting them to shoot regular people. Not that he had a problem with shooting people. He'd done his share of that. But desperate, run-ragged people just trying to stay alive? That wasn't fair. He wasn't Robin Hood, but he wasn't The Man, either.

And, then there was the other thing. Jesus. Was he never going to be free of it? Because it really was damn hard to convince himself that he never thought about it. 

About him. Glenn. Pretty much impossible to not think about Glenn now, with his desperate requests and his reasonable arguments and his...all those things. The things Daryl wasn't going to think about.

Earlier, Daryl had crouched down to check for his trail, and picked up a loose rock. Now he whipped it out into the darkness ahead of him, half-hoping it would hit something that would start moaning and shambling towards him. _That_ would be a problem he could handle, very simply, and without any talking.

The terrain ahead of him remained silent, as if a gaping black mouth had swallowed that rock. He waited a few more seconds, and then kept going. Fragmented moonlight shifted in patterns across the ground. The vegetation here wasn’t too different than it was in Georgia. 

And the harder he tried to push the images out of his head, the more vivid and demanding they became.

_The others put Glenn down a well. One with a live walker in it. Like a worm squirming on a hook. Squirming and screaming, from what T-Dog describes when Daryl gets back to camp._

_“I told ‘em just to shoot it, man,” T-Dog shrugs. “But no. We had to lasso it, then pull it up. Dumbest idea ever.”_

_Daryl agrees, but not just about the idea being dumb. Glenn is off doing something at the moment, probably some other hugely dumb thing like painting the walls of the Greene barn with his blood or volunteering to go somewhere with Shane. Daryl asks Lori and Carol and Dale where Glenn is, and gets the usual weird look from Lori and shrugs from Dale and Carol._

_“Do you want us to tell him you’re looking for him?” Carol asks as he picks up his bow again and starts stomping away from camp. She tries to be helpful, and normally he might spare a thought about it being nice, and considerate, but right now he doesn’t have room for thoughts like that. So he leaves._

_His scent is putting off whatever game may be out there; human frustration and rage have a smell that sends critters into hiding. You have to be calm to hunt. He shoots a couple of tree trunks just for the hell of it, which is stupid because it blunts the arrow points and that’s just a fucking waste._

_It’s all a fucking waste. Maybe the Greenes have some liquor stashed somewhere; he could bargain with that red-haired girl. Because yeah, he saw Bibles and religious crap all over that house the one and only time he cleared the doorway, but that girl gives off a vibe like she ain’t all that holy. Maybe she’d have something that might take the edge off._

_A stick cracking behind him makes him pivot around. He almost shoots without thinking, until he sees who it is._

_Glenn is standing there with his hands up, eyes huge. “Shit, it’s me! Carol said you were looking for me!”_

_What he wants to do, he can’t do. So he does the next best thing. Drops the crossbow and takes the few steps it takes him to get to Glenn, and busts him in the mouth. Not hard, but hard enough. “What the *fuck* were you doing?”_

_Glenn stumbles, knocked off balance. He wipes a little blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. He just shakes his head, confused. “Why’d you do that?”_

_“How many kinds of stupid are you?” Daryl can’t even believe it. Has to be about thirty different kinds. “You volunteered to let them bait a fuckin’ hook with your ass? That bunch can’t even tie their own shoes!”_

_“Wow. If this is you being concerned, I’d think I’d rather you didn’t give a shit.” Glenn spits some blood on the ground. “And I’m fine, as you can see.”_

_Except that, just as easily, he could’ve been dead. All from trying to help a bunch of people who couldn’t reason their way out of a paper bag. “Just when I start thinkin’ you ain’t some dumb chink kid.”_

_And, hey, Glenn apparently knows playground rules, because he sucker-punches Daryl in the jaw. It rings his bell; Glenn has a pretty mean right._

_“Just when I start thinking you aren’t an ignorant asshole.” Glenn is shaking out his hand when Daryl can focus his eyes again. “I thought you needed to...talk to me, or something. I guess I was wrong.” He turns to walk away._

_“No. Wait.” Daryl grabs for him, and Glenn shakes off his hand, once, twice, until Daryl has to use both hands and they end up grappling with each other._

_“Jesus, Daryl, let it go! I get it, you think I’m a moron, I piss you off.” Glenn’s voice changes, hurt bleeding across his anger. “I’m sorry I ever thought you felt differently. I’m sorry I make you...whatever I make you, okay? Can we just stop doing this?” He takes hold of the hand Daryl has fisted in his shirt, and gently pulls it free. “I’ll leave you alone.”_

_It is the story of Daryl’s life; the only people he’s ever wanted to keep around are the ones who want to leave, probably because he makes them want that. “Don’t.” The words won’t come out, not even shitty, angry words, which are usually easier. Glenn has stopped pulling, and Daryl twists his hand, so that their fingers quit pushing against each other and lock together instead. “Just...don’t.”_

_He’s shaking his head at Glenn, who looks so completely confused, and irritated, and fuck if that doesn’t even make it all harder. “I’m sorry I hit you.” There. That was a good thing to say, right?_

_Glenn is staring at their hands like he’s never seen such a thing before in his life. And, well, he hasn’t, because the last time they were touching each other, it was pretty dark._

_“It’s okay,” Glenn says slowly. “I hit you too. We’re even. And I’m not going to do it again.”_

_It occurs to Daryl that he probably deserves getting hit. He’s been pushing Glenn away over and over again, ever since the CDC. Afraid that what happened between them will happen again. And afraid that it won’t. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and feels Glenn’s fingers warm in his hand. Why does Glenn have to be so goddamn easy?_

_Glenn is closer now, looking into his eyes. “And I won’t do stupid shit that pisses you off anymore.” He smiles, because now he’s joking. Or maybe he’s not._

_Daryl twists Glenn’s fingers a little. “Like bein’ walker bait, or volunteering for stuff.”_

_Glenn pokes at the swollen spot on his bottom lip with his tongue. “I’m good at that stuff, though.”_

_Daryl doesn’t think it’s funny, but he can’t come up with a way to say that without sounding like a jackass. And somehow Glenn, fucking Glenn, he sees something in Daryl’s face and he gets that apologetic look. “Okay. I’m serious. No volunteering for crazy stuff. Unless you’re around. Does that work?”_

_Glenn has to be just kidding still, he has to. But Daryl nods. “You better mean it, Glenn.”_

_“I do. I promise.”_

_“Hey, Glenn!” Of course, it’s Dale, whacking away at underbrush with his hat and fortunately making a shit-ton of noise that gives Daryl enough time to drop Glenn’s hand and turn to get his bow. “Where’d you get to? Rick’s looking for you!”_

_“Over here, Dale!” Glenn calls. Daryl doesn’t wait for Dale to show up, he goes straight in the opposite direction._

_And a few days later, when he admits to himself what he was really saying to Glenn, it’s too late._

One of those abrupt twig-snaps, just like the one from his memory, brought him back to the present. For a split second, he thought _Glenn_ , and then realized what was actually happening.

“If that’s somebody who can talk, you better do it now,” he called. There was no answer, just that eerie silence again. Whoever it was, they had stopped, and they weren’t talking. Possibly because they couldn’t.

That brought him to the unpleasant realization that he’d possibly made a very bad mistake in going out alone in the dark. Shooting at close range was no problem, but the lack of light turned close range into right-on-top-of-you-range, and there was no way in hell he could reload that fast. Depending on how many of them there were, he could be well and truly fucked.

And he hadn’t bothered to bring a gun. Well, now who was the one taking stupid risks? Fuck it, he’d yell at himself later. Daryl took off at a jog, the fastest he could go without much light. The Jeep wasn’t far, and if he was lucky they hadn’t been expecting him to run for it.

And he was lucky, mostly. After about a minute he was pretty sure he heard other footsteps, but no way in hell was he turning to look, so he kept going, even when he tripped over a fallen trunk and nearly went down.

The Jeep came into view just where he left it, and not a second too soon, because he saw walkers break into the clearing beyond it. He shot one without breaking stride, but there was no way he’d make it into the Jeep before they were on top of him, so he improvised, and went up instead. One foot on the bumper, step onto the hood, and up onto the roof where he had just enough time to reload and shoot another one. 

The two that had been chasing him threw themselves onto the hood and tried to claw their way up to the roof. He stomped a pair of skeletal hands, and kicked the other one in the head. It knocked both walkers back, but not enough to let him reload again. The fuckers were fast, Glenn was right, fast and strong. They just kept coming, until they had a grip on his boots and he had to do something drastic.

He kicked them away and jumped off the roof, hoping they didn’t have the time to react, and wrenched at the back hatch. Locked. Why the _fuck_ was it locked? As the walkers rolled off the hood and started after him again, arms outstretched and ready to make him their dinner, he smashed the crossbow stock into the back window. It didn’t shatter. “Goddamn it, come _on!_ ”

On the third try he cracked it, and basically threw himself inside, feeling glass shards digging into his midsection and hands grasping at his legs. He pulled himself into the front and started the Jeep as the walkers crawled in after him. He shifted into reverse and gunned it, trying to shake them loose, and one fell off. He backed over it. The other was snarling and climbing over the back seat, so close he could smell it.

He grabbed the Mossberg off the passenger seat. It wasn’t a good size for interior shooting, and the first shot blew the walker’s guts apart. It fell forward into his lap, and he felt teeth against his side. Too close for the shotgun. He didn’t have his knife on him. _Grope._ He pushed its head away. It snarled and snapped at his hand, and he jerked back so hard he stabbed his arm on...fuck yes. The quiver of arrows.

He grabbed one and stabbed the fucking thing through the eyeball, finally ending its attack. Swearing, he shoved its motionless, reeking body away and drove like a bat out of hell. The terrain going back towards the maintenance building was a little rougher than he should be taking at that speed, but hell if he was going to waste any time being cautious.

By the time he was bearing down full speed on the maintenance building, someone was shining a flashlight and yelling while someone else untied the gate. He clipped part of the fence driving in, but it stayed standing and T-Dog tied it shut again.

“What the _fuck_ , man!” T-Dog yelled at him. “You don’t just leave and not tell anybody! The hell you think you’re doin’?”

For an answer, Daryl opened the passenger door and kicked the walker’s body out. Sophia, who had been holding the flashlight and her shotgun, swore and leveled it at the body.

“It’s dead,” Daryl said. “Gonna have to clean the upholstery later. And fix the back window.” His legs wobbled in spite of his best efforts as he got out. He handed the Mossberg to the closest person, who just happened to be Glenn, standing there with his mouth hanging open.

“All right,” Daryl said to him. “I’ll arm you and your people. And you can help. For now.”

Glenn just stared at him, shaking his head. The shotgun in his hands was spattered with the walker’s blood, and he held it away from himself. “What changed your mind?”

Daryl limped towards the building. “You volunteered. Just like you always did.”

*

Of course, the entire bunch of them was running around like chickens with their heads cut off at that point. Sophia yelled at T-Dog for not seeing Daryl leave, and T-Dog went on about how Daryl was some kind of ninja forest spirit when he wanted to be, and would it have been a good idea for all of them to go running after him anyhow? And then more stuff about how Sophia shouldn't have been sleeping, regardless of how comfortable Carl's shoulder was, and then, of course, Carl was apologetic and embarrassed and Glenn's was telling him it wasn't his fault and everyone was talking at once.

"Christ." Daryl rubbed his eyes. Seeing double had nothing on seeing triple; it was like there were twenty people in the room, all talking into megaphones. "Not to blow y'all's minds, but it's my fault. Was a bad idea, leavin' like that." A wave of vertigo hit him and he tried not to put his hands out for something to steady him. "Everybody quit yellin’. I'm gonna go sit over here." That was all he needed, some quiet. For a minute or two.

A couple of pairs of hands grabbed for him as he leaned over to one side trying to walk. He tried to push them off, but they don't let go until he was seated against a wall.

He squinted. Two of T-Dog and three of Glenn looked down at him. What, they wanted direction now? He tried to make words make sense before they came out.

"Back of the Jeep, more ammo-"

"Right, we got it." T-Dog's voice. "And the rifle." 

"Has everybody reloaded?" That was Sophia.

Yeses all around.

Daryl tried to follow the roles being negotiated and which weapons went where, but it got complicated. Finally Sophia grabbed him by the arm. "C'mon, boss. We're leaving."

He found himself in the back of the jeep, wedged in next to the weapons locker. With Carl, of all people. Or, more like, two of him. 

Carl leaned over and brushed shards of glass away. "Don't sit on those."

"Was I sittin' on something?"

Carl made a face. "Just some glass." He stared out the window for awhile, and then looked back at Daryl. "What?"

Okay, so he'd been staring. "Thought you looked like your mama at first. But you look like your dad."

Carl didn't smile. "Thanks."

"You act like him too. You were right, what you said before, about him and me. But he was a good man. Fair.”

This time Carl looked down at the pistol in his lap. He swallowed, and the word was softer when he repeated it. "Thanks." Then he looked up at Daryl again. "Did you hit your head out there or something?"

Sophia leaned over the back seat to put in her two cents. "It's the side effects from an EM pulse. He's kind of a mess, I mean...more so than usual."

People needed to stop having opinions. Daryl rested his head against the window. "Both of you just shut up for awhile, okay?"

Sitting back there wasn’t very restful. In fact, he had to hang on for dear life. Normally, he'd insist on driving, but right now he couldn't really be trusted to keep all four wheels on the ground.

By the time they got to the truck, all that movement had him almost sick to his stomach, so he got out with the rest of them, in spite of Sophia's glares. It wasn't like he couldn't interpret those. 

"I ain't sittin' this one out. And you need to quit givin' me the stinkeye and take the rifle to higher ground. Make sure you can see the whole area, got it? Pick the fuckers off if they come between us and you. If not, just let me know where they are." He tossed a radio at her. "Don't lose this one. And keep it on the right channel this time."

She exchanged looks with T-Dog when he handed her the binoculars, but she did as she was told. Huh. Regardless of their agreement, that was still pretty unusual. After some discussion with T-Dog over the angle they hooked up the winch and let it go to work. 

Daryl didn't do much more than sit in the Jeep and keep it steady - he didn't really trust anyone else to have enough sense to know when to let up on the gas. Well, anyone other than Sophia - she drove less like a girl than T-Dog did, when all was said and done. But she was busy. He picked up the radio. "Whattya see out there? And where the hell are you?"

"Wasn't any high ground, really, so I climbed a tree. And I can see you guys. Wow, Daryl, you're really working hard."

That girl's sarcasm, Jesus. "Somebody really shoulda slapped you more as a child."

He heard her snort. "Right, because I was so spoiled." A moment of quiet, then, "You know, I can see a few walkers from up here."

"Comin' this way?" He could see the Jeep's RPMs going up as the truck started to pull free, and let up on the gas a little.

"No. Between you and the maintenance building. So we'll see them on the way back there."

"Who says we're going back there?" 

"Dar-yl." Her voice had that oh-Daryl-why-do-I-put-up-with-you tone. "The bike is back there."

"Oh, right."

"And..."

"Yeah?" He cut the engine as the truck finally hit dry ground again. 

Her voice was different. "We need to bury Tommy and Alice. You know we can’t just leave them.”

"Don't tell me what I know." He got out of the truck. "Be ready to drop out of that tree so we can pick you up."

He slammed the door. As the others unhooked the truck and got the winch stowed, he watched Glenn for a moment. Staying close to Carl, checking on his other two people. Just like Daryl remembered him.

"Glenn."

Glenn stood up, wiping mud off his hands. This would be a lot easier if he didn't look like he expected Daryl to punch him. 

Daryl addressed the whole group, since they were now all looking. "When we get back you can bury your people."

Glenn's face didn't change, but he nodded. 

"We don't have a lot of time. Sophia says there's geeks out there."

"We know how to bury people quickly, Daryl." Glenn's voice was quiet, but something told Daryl not to push. 

Back at the maintenance building, Daryl sent Sophia up to the roof with the rifle, and then he waited out front with the Mossberg.

The others carried shovels out of the building and went around the back to work. When Daryl saw them carry out the smaller, shrouded body, he walked out of range. He'd seen the like enough times to not want to share in it. Pretty sure they didn't want him there, anyhow. 

Standing out front with the shotgun, he relaxed as much as he could. His vision was back to normal now, that was good. There was a headache coming on, but he could deal with that.

The radio squawked. Sophia. He turned and looked at her as he hit the button. "Yeah?"

"We've got walkers. Coming from the North. Fast." Sophia's voice was urgent.

Shit, more of those smarter, faster dead bastards. "You got a bead on 'em?"

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "Just be ready. Tell the others."

As soon as she clicked off, he heard the crack of her rifle. She was a hell of a marksman, no worries there.

There was no need to go to the burial site. Carl came running, eyes wide.

"Yeah, Carl Grimes, it's what you think it is." 

"I'll tell them we have to hurry." He ran back behind the building.

"You do that," Daryl muttered to himself. Maybe it was better this way - no time to cry over graves because you were too busy worrying about your own ass. He counted rifle bursts. _Four. Five-six-seven. Eight._ He pumped a round into the Mossberg's chamber. "Come on out, you smelly geek bastards."

A couple of nasty ones, all crook-legged and oozing blackish blood, ran out of the woods. Sophia was still shooting beyond the tree line, so Daryl took them out. He barely had time to be satisfied with the way their heads exploded before there were two more. "Sophia, you better cover me!" he yelled. I gotta reload!"

"So reload, then!" Sophia still sounded pretty calm, and she plugged the nearest one neatly, right through its yellow eyeball. Just like a good partner should. He was going to have to tell her that, when things died down a little bit. 

It wasn't fun, exactly, but when the others came running back around front, every single one of them red-faced and swollen-eyed, it made him glad he’d been out front with the shooting gallery. "You ready to hit it?"

T-Dog and Glenn loaded the bike into the truck. "Let's go!" T-Dog yelled.

The ride back through the woods even more jarring than earlier, and they saw a few walkers as well, but nobody felt like stopping to add to the tally. There was one goal: get back to the guest house, and do whatever it took to leave this job far, far behind.

When they finally rolled up to it, the guest house looked so peaceful, compared to where they had been. Just a nice little vacation place in the country. Complete with opportunities for target practice. A little sport hunting. Daryl snorted, amused at his own thoughts, and pretended not to notice everyone side-eyeing him as he grabbed his share of the weapons.

Inside, he left the others to bring in the rest of the gear and guns, to reload or whatever it was they were going to do while cooped up together for the next few hours. Cry. Sleep. Hell, steal all the food in the cupboards, he didn't care. Calley could try to take if off their fee, and good luck with that.

All of the bedrooms had huge log beds all piled with comforters and blankets. He picked the one that looked the least decorative, kicked off his boots, and that was it. 

When he woke up to sunlight filtering through the shades, he could feel someone watching him. Stiff and sore, he rolled over and squinted at the doorway.

Sophia stood there with a tray. In the dim room, with her hair pulled back out of her face, she looked more like her mother than she ever had before, and his throat tightened up on him before he could even think of something to say.

She walked in cautiously. “Can you see okay?” Setting the tray on the huge nightstand, she leaned closer. “Oh, good.”

He cleared his throat. “Whattya mean, good?”

She smiled. “You’re not looking over my left shoulder like you were before, so your vision must’ve straightened out.”

“I managed to shoot my share of walkers like that, so you can just shut up.” He pushed up on his elbows. “You know, anybody sees you bein’ all considerate and bringin’ people breakfast in bed, they’re gonna start thinkin’ you’re some kinda sweet young lady, or something.”

“Ha. Fat chance of that.” She hopped onto the bed next to him and grabbed the tray. “Half of this is for me.”

There was canned hash, and peaches, and some kind of crackers. Tea. Apparently even Calley didn’t have access to fresh food beyond his own oranges. Daryl wasn’t feeling picky, he took what he considered his half off the tray.

“Where’re the others?” he asked between bites.

She dipped a cracker in the hash and ate it. “Mostly sleeping. We’ve got one person on watch - I’m next, so I figured I’d feed you before I go.”

“Who’s on now?”

“Glenn. He said he’d do it so you could sleep.”

Of course he did. Daryl chewed and nodded, hoping his face wasn’t doing anything. “Good.”

Sophia picked at some crumbs on the blankets, and Daryl considered giving her grief over wearing her boots on the bed. Her mother wouldn't have put up with that. But if she was about to take over the watch from Glenn, well...who really gave a shit? A guy who hired them to kill innocent people wouldn’t exactly scold them for dirtying the bed linens. Or, who knows. Maybe he would.

Lord. This job was cursed from the start. Daryl again considered the practicality of just leaving with their deposit. He’d have good reason. They’d taken out a lot of walkers, in spite of details not mentioned by the client, other difficulties, damages.

The argument continued in his head. Cut their losses and go? Or stay and finish, and maybe be forced to deal with what Calley wanted done with the squatters? "I need to know your mind on something."

She went still. "Okay."

"The extra detail of the contract that Calley told me about yesterday was that he wanted us to clean everybody off his land. Living or dead, didn't matter to him."

Sophia looked out from under her bangs at him. "He said that?"

"Yeah. And if what Glenn said is true, then he's got a reason for wanting them dead. He was lettin' someone test a new virus here. Like a weapon. And something went wrong, maybe, and they need to cover it up."

"Daryl, it's people we _know_ , people we care about-"

She wasn't particularly loud, but he put a hand over her mouth, just to stop her in her tracks. "Settle down. We ain’t killin’ anyone here." 

Her eyes were still wary. "I thought you wanted my opinion."

He snorted. "I don't need your opinion on that."

"What, then?"

"I'm thinkin' we cut our losses and go. Maybe."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. "That doesn't violate the terms of the contract. The deposit's ours, free and clear, just for showing up."

"Yep. But Calley might not take kindly to that. Might have a fight on our hands."

"If Calley wants a fight over that, we'll give him one." She shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Do you think he would?"

More brave than smart, sometimes. "Maybe. I want to avoid a fight if we can. Even if it means we have to bug out fast, and leave the deposit."

That got a frown. "The Escalade?"

He smirked a little. "Lemme guess, you pictured yourself drivin' around Cocoa in that sweet ride. Bein' all impressive for...what's his name? Eddie?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I'd drive that thing. The gas to go from Cocoa to Titusville would power our genny for a week or more." 

The sound of a door opening came from another part of the house. "There’s Glenn. It's time for my watch." Sophia hopped off the bed. "Which reminds me, I need to ask Glenn what he thinks of coming back with us, you know, just so they can have a fresh start-"

She was hurrying to get the rest out and leave the room, but he was off that bed like walkers were in it. He got between her and the door. "Wait a damn minute."

The look on her face was halfway between guilty and mutinous. She _knew_ it would piss him off, had to know it. 

"Daryl, come on. It's Glenn and Carl." Oh, the look in her eyes. Goddammit. "Remember when you went into that one place to save Glenn?"

It took him a few seconds to realize she meant that one beaner nursing home, with Rick and T-Dog. Where Glenn hadn't really been in any danger at all.

"I remember. Different situation." 

“But-”

"But nothin’. Sophia - they ain't kittens you can take home and take care of. We’ll let ‘em keep the guns. Hell, I’ll _give_ them one of our trucks, okay? They'll be fine."

Her voice was small. "Don't you want Glenn around?" The tears in her eyes shocked him. He'd barely seen her cry over her mother, even. 

He knew it wasn't Glenn she was thinking of, it was Carl, Carl she wanted to take home and keep, and he couldn't blame her. But the words came out, sudden and true before he could even rethink them.

"I don't want anybody around who's gonna walk out on me when somethin' better comes along." Shit. He pushed past her and picked up his boots. "Ain't you late for your watch?"

The tears hadn't fallen, but Sophia's eyes were huge, and he saw it hit her. "It's true, then?"

"What's true?" He yanked at the bootlaces viciously.

"Carl said...I said he was crazy, there was no _way_..."

Carl Grimes, Gossipmonger. Maybe someone should teach that kid to mind his own business. Daryl leaned close to Sophia. "I know you think you know what that's all about, but I will tell you this one time. Stay the hell out of it."

"But-"

"I said _no_."

Something hardened in her face. "You've given me a lot of ultimatums in the last few days. And I get it, with the others. You want me safe, you need me to follow orders." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'll leave you alone about it. But whatever happened - it was five years ago. That’s a long time. People change. You have."

He stepped away from the door. "Just go take your watch."

She started to go, but threw back one more thing. “Sometimes you’re a horrible person, you know that?”

“And you’re bein’ a whiny little bitch. Get outta here already!” 

She flipped him off, and then he saw nothing but her back as she grabbed the rifle off the table and slammed the door so hard the guest house practically shook.

Glenn stood in the entryway with his mouth open. He turned and saw Daryl standing there, and his mouth clicked shut. “I, uh...”

Whatever Glenn was about to say, Daryl didn’t need it right now. “You’re done with your watch. I know.” He hoped Glenn was tired enough to just go get some sleep, and he could fix his bow in relative peace.

“I was gonna ask you if it was okay to eat some of the food.”

Oh. Well, fine. “It’s Calley’s food. I don’t care if you eat it.” He grabbed his bow from where he’d dropped it earlier. It seemed he’d knocked one of the fasteners loose, so it was time to take the bow completely off the stock and make sure nothing was broken. The long table seemed to offer the best work surface, so he sat down and ignored whatever it was Glenn was doing.

Except ignoring Glenn proved to be hard to do. While Glenn ran water in a pan to cook a package of instant noodles, Daryl watched him. He’d not really had a chance to do it in the light yet.

The past five years hadn’t changed Glenn much, in fact, Daryl imagined you could put him right next to his five-years-ago self and things would match up. Maybe he was a little thinner now...at least through the middle. But his arms and hands had the look of someone who did manual labor. His shoulders didn’t look so narrow anymore either, the way his t-shirt stretched tight between them. Standing at the stove, he cracked his neck from side to side, and then reached up to rub at it with his hand. 

Daryl knew what those tight neck muscles felt like, the way it felt to dig his fingers into them. The way it felt to slide his fingers up into Glenn’s hair. He’d never told Glenn, never told a soul, that had been one of his favorite things, Glenn’s hair, thick and soft and too stubbornly straight to curl around your fingers, even when you grabbed a handful of it.

Glenn turned too suddenly for Daryl to look away. “What?” His eyes narrowed. 

That was new. That hard, suspicious look wasn’t something Daryl remembered. It surprised him into telling the truth. “I’m tryin’ to figure out if you look different.”

Glenn gave a short, humorless laugh. “Five years of never enough sleep or food and running for our lives half the time? I probably look like I’m fifty.” The water was boiling; he broke his noodles into the water. “This is the best food I’ve had in a year.”

Daryl nodded, focusing on his task. “Get a little sick of oranges?”

“Got a lot sick of oranges. But if they’re all you have-” he shrugged. “We’d go on supply runs when we could. Steal stuff. When we met up with new people they usually shared, if they had anything.” He started rummaging through the cabinets and came up with a little can. Vienna sausages. “Can I have these?”

“Didn’t I already say I didn’t care?” Daryl made a face. “Those are disgusting.”

“Oh, I suppose you eat pretty well, down there in Cocoa Beach? Lobsters? Surf and turf?” Glenn opened the can and dumped the sausages into his noodles. His words sounded sarcastic, but he was smiling a little. 

“We eat a lot of fish. And a lot of beaner food. Rice, beans, spicy crap.”

“I’m going to translate that into you meaning Mexican food.” Glenn took the pan off the stove and came over to the table with it. “What got you eating that?”

Daryl shrugged. He had the bow off the stock, and nothing appeared to be broken, so he started re-fastening it. “Not Mexican, I guess. Cuban. T-Dog’s girlfriend cooked for us a lot, the last couple of months.”

“Oh.” Glenn took a big slurp of his noodles. “Shit, that’s hot.” He took a drink of water, set the glass down. “I’m sorry about Carol. Really sorry. I liked her.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.” Nothing he could really say, or at least, he had no idea how. 

_I will haunt you forever if you don’t do something about this_.

And there Glenn sat, at the other end of the table. Daryl shook his head. “She’d laugh about this whole fucked up situation.” Glenn didn’t answer. “Actually, no. She’d be pissed at me.”

“Why?”

“Something she...forget it.” That was not a memory he needed to be sharing. And Carol would be so, so pissed, it was true. Especially if she heard the next part. “Glenn.”

Daryl knew what it was that made Glenn stop in mid-chew and look at him. They could probably count the number of times he’d said Glenn’s name on one hand. Twice... _twice_ in one night, that one night. At the CDC. Made it harder to say it afterward.

“We’re gonna wrap up this job, here. And you and your people helped, and I appreciate that. We do. Me and T and Sophia.”

Glenn got that wary look again. “And?”

“And, what I’m tryin’ to say is,” Daryl stopped. He was so, so bad at this. “You, and Carl, and the others...you can’t stay here after we’re gone. It ain’t safe. And I don’t want you all to have to leave with nothin’.”

Glenn took a few more bites before answering. “Right. You’ve said that before. The not-safe part. I get it.” He looked up. “Believe it or not, I’m not stupid.” There was a cold look in his eyes. “Two of my friends died, what...yesterday? A few hours ago? Not safe. Check.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid. Lemme finish.” Daryl set the bow aside, because for some stupid reason his hands were sweating. He wiped his palms on his pants, underneath the table. “I don’t have money to give you, as payment. But I can give you the Jeep. And a can of gas, to get you away from here.”

Glenn nodded slowly. “And guns. For Javy and Sara. And ammunition for all of us.”

Daryl stopped. He’d expected another argument, along the lines of what he’d gotten the previous night. 

The old Glenn, five-years-ago Glenn, would have argued. This one didn’t.

“I can do that. Guns and ammo,” Daryl agreed. Where was the rest of it, the plea, the appeal? That was what Glenn _did_ , he had ideas about how things were supposed to be. He had plans for things. He was the one who would try to just convince you things could work out.

“Is that all?” Glenn was already in the kitchen; he’d stood up while Daryl was waiting for him to say more. “Because I’m tired. We can work out the details after I sleep a little? That work for you, Daryl?” He dumped his pan in the sink. “I have a lot of driving ahead of me.”

“You ain’t the only one.” _Argue, you son of a bitch. Ask, so I can tell you no._

For the second time in a half hour, Daryl watched somebody’s back as they left the room. Glenn closed the bedroom door much more quietly than Sophia had, but Daryl was suddenly five, ten times angrier than he had been. He knew he should just sit and restring the bow, then start organizing things, figuring out what weapons to give to Glenn, how much gas to part with, logistics, numbers, things that made sense. Fuck. Fuck Glenn anyhow. He thinks he’s right, he thinks he’s _wronged_ , and now he’s just going to walk out? Oh, hell no.

Daryl’s chair skidded backward so hard it hit the edge of the carpet and fell over. He was in that bedroom with Glenn before Glenn could even get his shirt all the way off.

Daryl hated how this made it instantly harder to think. “I don’t owe you. I don’t owe you nothin’.”

“I never said you did,” Glenn replied. “But you think I owe _you_ something, don’t you?” Glenn spread his hands out. “What? What do I owe you? An apology, because I made a mistake five years ago, and didn’t chase you fast enough?” He smiled a little, a mocking smile. “Is that it? Your wounded pride needs something, still?”

Daryl swallowed. He needed something, still, and he still didn’t know what it was. No, that was a lie, the lie he told himself so he could stay angry. “Chase me fast enough? You didn’t chase me at _all_!” He punctuated the last word with a shove.

And he must’ve let his hand linger on Glenn’s shoulder, because Glenn slapped it away, hard. “Right. And I did that to hurt your feelings. To hurt you, after you made it _so clear_ you didn’t want me, Daryl. You could’ve said something, anything, and I would’ve told all those people, our friends, the Greenes, _Maggie_ -” at this, Glenn grabbed Daryl’s arm to hold him in place, to make him listen when he tried to turn away. “Maggie was nice to me! She appreciated me! I’d have told her no, if you hadn’t blown me off how many times. I’d have told her I liked you, that I’d slept with you - that wasn’t embarrassing to me! Like I gave a shit what anybody thought about that. I _wanted you_! I couldn’t just turn that off like you did!”

“I didn’t turn it off, you dumb shit!” He hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. He’d kept on wanting Glenn so bad it hurt. “You got any idea what that was like, goin’ lookin’ for you, and there you are behind the house, kissin’ that girl like...like she _was_ your girl? You made your choice! What’d you want me to do, fight her for you?”

“No! I didn’t want that!” Glenn dug his fingers into Daryl’s wrists. “You should’ve told me! How you felt! I made a mistake, doing what I did, I knew it, she knew it!”

Daryl broke Glenn’s hold, just for the hell of it, and gave him another push. “I don’t give a fuck what you knew!”

Glenn grabbed for him again. His voice was softer this time. “Because I should’ve known how you felt, without you saying it? That’s really it, isn’t it?” Glenn held him fast. “You know, Daryl, the world’s a crazy, fucked up place, but that’s still not how it works. You don’t get to be mad because I couldn’t read your mind!”

It was getting harder and harder to come up with something to say, so the easiest thing to do was try to fight, but every time Daryl threw Glenn off he came back at him, until finally Daryl fetched up against the wall, with Glenn shoved right up against him.

“I won’t make you read my mind, Daryl. I won’t make you leave without being a _hundred percent fucking sure_ ,” Glenn gritted out, and then Daryl’s head hit the wall with the force of Glenn’s assault. Glenn’s mouth against his. His lips, his tongue, oh, God. Five years of not feeling that, five years of wanting it. Five years of being too angry to breathe, sometimes.

Now Daryl could barely breathe at all, but when Glenn let go of his wrists he wasn’t pushing anymore. He let his fingers sink into Glenn’s hair like they’d been itching to do.

Glenn kept him pushed up against the wall with insistent hands, on his belt, up under his shirt. Thumbing that one scar, the one from the arrow he fell on. “You know,” Glenn panted against his mouth, “how bad I just wanted to crawl into that bed with you, when you were up there, at the Greene farm? Say you couldn’t do crazy shit anymore, either?”

Daryl could barely shake his head _no_ , how would he have known that? He put his hands on Glenn’s face. Every time he’d done this with someone else in the last five years, this was what he’d thought about. No way was he letting it end fast, no matter what happened next. He kissed Glenn and tasted the salt that still lingered on his tongue. Sucked on his tongue. Something, anything to get more of him.

“Glenn? Are you in there?” Someone was knocking on the door, right next to where Glenn still had Daryl up against the wall. “Is everything okay?”

Carl Grimes. Just the sound of his voice made Daryl feel like he’d been caught at something. He turned his head, and when he did it, Glenn pulled away.

“Yeah, Carl. I’m coming out. We have to sort through some stuff.” He looked Daryl in the eye. Waited.

Then he spoke again. “We’re going to be leaving. Daryl’s giving us the Jeep. Can you wake the others up for me?”

And he waited, again. 

Daryl couldn’t think. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.

And then there was Carl’s voice again. “Why are we leaving now?”

 _Tell him. Tell him you’re fucking sorry. Tell him to stay._ Daryl swallowed hard, stared at Glenn, trying to let go of those five years of anger. Five years of being wrong, dead wrong.

Glenn reached past him and opened the door. Daryl could see him looking at Carl. “Because I think it’s best if we do.”

He left the door open as he walked out of the room.

 

***

 

_Carl_

It took him less than a minute to wake up Javy and Sara. They were in the same bedroom, a child’s room, it looked like, with double beds. He went to Javy first, and by the time Javy was awake, Sara was blinking over at them too.

“I thought Glenn said we might stick with the new people,” she said.

Carl frowned. “He probably thought we might. It’s not happening, though.” He left them behind to get their things together.

He should have argued, should have insisted Glenn tell him why. Because this had nothing to do with what Sophia or T-Dog wanted, he was sure of it. There was something going down between Glenn and Daryl, and Carl wasn’t stupid or blind. He knew what things like swollen lips and red marks on skin and thumps against walls and people trying to act like nothing had happened meant.

And, fine. If Glenn and Daryl couldn’t work things out, well, that was life. He’d known more about things between his own parents than anyone would have thought. People fought and hurt each other and it didn’t stop just because ninety percent of the time you were running from dead things or trying to figure out where your next meal was coming from.

Out in the main part of the house, Carl walked past Glenn and up to Daryl. “You want us to leave,” he said flatly. Might as well get the truth out, in front of everybody. Sara and Javy were coming out of the room with their things, and T-Dog emerged from one across the hall, rubbing his eyes.

“You were always gonna leave. Just a matter of timing, is all,” Daryl replied evenly. He sounded just as calm as Glenn had a few seconds ago. “And that means now. I can’t go ask Calley for payment with you all still here.”

“Payment?” Carl laughed, even though it was the opposite of funny. “Oh, my God. That’s like...you are a human cliche, you know that? This is about getting _paid_?”

“Carl,” Glenn’s voice was tired. “Help me start loading this stuff into the jeep, would you?”

Carl looked over and saw a few guns, a bag stuffed with ammo. “Wow. That’s so worth it.” He turned to face Daryl again. “Thank you so much. That makes up for our dead friends we left back there. Awesome.” He took a couple of steps towards Daryl. “We _don’t_ care about getting paid, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

Daryl’s nostrils flared a little, but he looked carefully past Carl, past Glenn. “That’s fine. But you ain’t leavin’ here with nothin’. Go help Glenn, like he asked you.”

“Daryl?” T-Dog’s voice, from behind them. “Are you sure-”

“It’s done. They’re leavin’, and we’re right behind them. I’m going to go talk to Calley, get us the keys to our deposit, and we’re out.”

“Where’s Sophia?” Carl said loudly. “She doesn’t want us gone.”

“Sophia’s on watch, doin’ what she’s told. You might follow her example.” Daryl’s voice was starting to take on a warning note.

“So, they do what they’re told, is that right? Sophia does? T-Dog, you too?” Carl could hear his voice crack, but he didn’t care. “What did you ever do, Daryl, to earn that kind of loyalty from them?”

Glenn shouldered a bag and came around the table. “Carl.” He took hold of Carl’s arm. “Enough.”

“No!” Carl pulled his arm free, so hard it almost sent him straight into Daryl and T-Dog. “This asshole” - he pointed at Daryl. “You’re just gonna do what he says, too? What is wrong with you?”

“It doesn’t concern you, Carl,” Glenn said quietly. Carl let him walk them both out the door and to the Jeep. “This is how it is.”

“How what is?” Sophia walked over, the rifle cradled in her arms. She looked from Carl to Glenn, with the bag, and her face fell. “Now? Already?”

Carl stared at her. “You _knew_ what he was gonna do?”

The others came outside, and Carl felt himself pushed aside as they loaded things into the Jeep. Sophia just stared at him, shaking her head. “I didn’t think...not right away! And I wasn’t sure he really meant it!” 

“Well, he means it!” Carl wanted to grab her rifle and throw it in disgust. “We’re leaving!”

“But...” she bit her lip. “You can still find us again, you know you can!”

And that was how it was. Suddenly something made a great deal of sense. Leave, chase. Push, pull. Fight, apologize, or stay mad. This was how people acted. It was never simple. It hurt and it fucking sucked, a lot of the time.

People were getting into the Jeep behind him. Daryl had gone back into the house. T-Dog was putting a gas can in the back, and then coming around to shake hands and hug them. Saying sorry. Saying good luck. 

This was happening.

Carl looked at Sophia. She was so lovely, and brave, and yes, loyal to that sad bastard in there who didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her or Glenn or anything good and yet somehow, here they all were breaking each others’ hearts four and five times over. 

There were just no good words for this. 

“Carl-” Sophia put the rifle down, and made a little run at him. He opened his arms and she came into them so hard it knocked the breath out of him. 

His face was buried in her hair, it stuck to his mouth, tickled his nose. “I want to beg you to just come with us,” he mumbled, “but I know you won’t. And I’m not going to beg you if I already know what the answer is.”

She clutched at him, her hands spasming against his shirt.

He let go of her and smoothed her hair back from her face. Then he turned his back and got into the Jeep so he didn’t have to watch her standing there with her hand over her mouth.

 

***

 

_T-Dog_

They were all totally insane. Theodore knew he should be used to Daryl’s particular brand of emotional constipation by now, but the rest of them? How hard did they all have to make it? Was it a contest? Did someone get a prize for being the most miserable?

No need to mince words, at least. “That was stupid, man,” he told Daryl. “We could’ve let them stick with us ‘til we got back down south. It’s as good a place as any to start over. And that’s what they all need.”

Daryl didn’t answer; he was organizing the rest of their guns and ammo on the table. Seeing what they had left, being practical, just like nothing had happened. Except that Theodore could see that muscle in his jaw clenching.

“You can’t even stop them, anyhow,” Theodore continued. “They could still end up down there, and what does it matter to you, really?” He finally decided to take a chance, and put a hand on Daryl’s arm. “Is this because of Glenn? Is whatever happened really that important?”

He felt Daryl’s forearm flex under his fingers, and moved his hand away. Okay, right. Whatever it was apparently _was_ that important. And this was just Daryl, who would shove it away as hard as he could rather than deal with it.

Daryl started shoving boxes of ammo into a bag, and Theodore considered the wisdom of taking over the task for him so he didn’t create enough impact to detonate anything. “Uh, what are you doing now?”

“We’re leaving too,” Daryl said shortly, not looking up.

“Leaving? We should still do a sweep of the property. Be thorough, you know?” Theodore tried to think of something convincing. “I mean, Calley could give us good references, if he’s happy with the job we did, you know?”

“I know I don’t want his references. I don’t want anything from that asshole but what we’re owed.” Daryl had turned from the table and now was just pacing with a gun in his hand. “He’s giving us the keys to our deposit, like it states in the contract. I’m gonna go tell him the score here in just a minute. And then we’re leaving.”

“And the rest of our fee?” It wasn’t a tragedy to leave with the deposit, by any means, even if the Escalade was too costly to drive right now. They could park it, and unload it when they found a buyer with something to trade.

“I don’t give a shit.” 

“What if I do? What if Sophia might? Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

Daryl stopped pacing long enough to get up in Theodore’s face. “I done enough talking for ten years in the past couple of days. Waste of time, and I’m done wastin’ time.”

Theodore just stood watching as Daryl banged out the front door. “I’m goin’ to settle things with Calley. Be ready to hit the road when I get back. Tell Sophia.”

There was little else for him to do, so Theodore went outside to find her. She was still walking a wide perimeter of the house, but he could plainly see she’d been crying again.

“Aw, girl, come on now,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“Don’t bother,” she snapped. She kept walking, so he fell into step beside her. 

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” He walked next to her for a bit, hoping her anger would bleed off - she was at least a little more likely to calm down than, say, Daryl would be. “I need to tell you, though, we’re gettin’ outta here. Daryl just went to tell Calley we’re done.”

She made a wet-cat-hissing sound. “He told me he was going to do that.” She just kept picking up speed, and Theodore, who had done more running in the past twenty-four hours than he had in quite awhile, was feeling it.

Then, just as quick, she rounded on him. “I don’t suppose he told _you_ what his big fucking problem was, did he?”

“Okay, first, do we need that sort of language? My grandma would’ve made you eat soap every day for a year.”

"Well, you know what you and your grandma can do with her soap.” She glared, fingers fidgeting with the bolt on her rifle. “I just don't get it."

"Which part, Daryl not being able to deal with Glenn, or him needing to blow out of this job like our hair's on fire?"

"Just..." her shoulders slumped a little. "This is just like what we did before we left for this job. We blow up at each other, I try to give Daryl the silent treatment, which doesn't work because he's all caught up in whatever he's doing that makes it so he doesn't have to deal with things, and then you come along and have to smooth things over. And usually, I apologize, and he calms down, and we go back to normal." She looked towards the main house. "Until it happens all over again."

"Honey, where you been the past few years? That's what families _do_." Theodore couldn't help but laugh at the look she gave him. "We haven't figured out how we all operate without your mama yet - she was the calming influence, you know? I'm not as good at that as she was."

"It's totally screwed up, T." Sophia's voice was disgusted.

"They used to call it bein' codependent." Theodore nodded. "And yeah, it is. But in this world, it's kept us all alive and safe and about as sane as we're gonna be, so I wouldn’t be so quick to knock it, if I was you."

Sophia was quiet for awhile as they walked. Finally she spoke again. "I wanted Glenn and Carl and the others to hang around."

Theodore put an arm over her shoulders. "Me too."

"Why does Daryl get the final say in stuff like that? It isn't fair."

"No, I suppose it isn't." No joke; Theodore knew it wasn't. Fair didn't enter into it with Daryl, a lot of the time. To be honest, Glenn would have been a good person to have around - after Daryl got over whatever went down between the two of them, Theodore could imagine that Glenn would have been able to exert far more influence over Daryl than the rest of them combined. He could speak from experience - wanting to please somebody you cared about was a strong motivator. 

He gave Sophia's braid a tug. "Come on. We should probably be loaded and ready to go by the time he gets done over there."

"Whattya wanna bet me he ends up forfeiting our deposit with his charm?"

"I dunno, what you got?" He led her over to the Escalade. "Wouldn't be a fair bet, anyhow."

"Why so?"

Theodore grinned. "’Cause you don't necessarily need keys to start one of these things." He tried the door. Locked.

Her mouth fell open. "What if it's alarmed?"

"Already checked, it's not." He pressed on the dark-tinted window, testing how far the glass could separate from the frame. "Think you could get the tool box out of the truck for me?"

She was already climbing into the truck bed. "I don’t think we have one of those slim-jim things in here.”

"Hell, don’t need one. Think a couple of blocks and a coat hanger."

Sophia was lugging the heavy tool box back to the Escalade when they heard the muffled gunshot from the direction of the main house.

She dropped it. "T! Was that-"

He nodded, grim. "Sounds like it." She was already running for the bike. "Wait, Sophia!"

She didn't slow down. "We gotta get up there!"

Theodore reached back for his gun - _shit_ \- it was inside. "Wait!" he yelled again, as she hopped on the bike.

"Both of you are going to stay right here," said a calm voice from behind him. He whirled around to see a man, dressed in what seemed to be that unofficial ranch uniform. Jeans, boots, workshirt, hat.

Big sawed-off shotgun. Daryl had been right all along - Calley had other men here.

"Don't suppose you were thinkin' of breakin' into that vehicle now, were you, boy?" Calley's ranch-hand had a very unpleasant smile.

He held up his hands. A second man approached, also armed, with his sights on Sophia. "Sophia!" Theodore yelled it when he didn't hear the bike's engine stop. "Do what he says!"

When he heard the engine rev, his heart skipped a beat. She was going to go for it.

 

***

 

_Glenn_

Carl was not typically a morose teenager. Even in the face of the most desperate circumstances, he remained fairly steady, if not downright cheerful. But now he sat as if he couldn't get far enough away from Glenn, with his forehead pressed against the passenger window of the jeep.

Glenn couldn't honestly say he felt much better about things. He'd love the luxury of sitting and being all sad about...oh, about a hundred things. But oh, no, he didn't get to do that. He had to hold this little motley band together. Keep everybody safe. Be strong. Resist all the unreasonable impulses to haul ass straight back there and refuse to put up with any of Daryl Dixon's ridiculous silences or avoidances or angry outbursts.

He took a bump in the road too hard, and heard Sara's and Javy's muted _oof_ 's in the back seat. Carl's head knocked against the window.

"Sorry." Why should he have to feel like a heel? He's just _driving_ for pete's sake!

Carl shrugged and didn't answer, just hunched over harder.

Glenn couldn't take it anymore. "Okay, okay, I get it. I really get it, Carl. You're mad we're leaving. You're mad I couldn't convince Daryl to let us stay. It's all my fault, I suck, okay? Can we just, like, deal, and move past it? We've got other things to worry about here. Like where we're going to go next."

He knew it wouldn't take much. Maybe Rick and Lori had been people who kept things inside, but Glenn had been more or less raising Carl for the last few years. So it was no surprise when Carl took the bait.

"Convince Daryl? What the _fuck_ Glenn? Convince him? Why do you have to do what he says? Was that like, some kind of weird _arrangement_ " Carl made sarcastic finger-quotes as he said it "that you guys had, back when-"

"That has nothing to do with-"

Carl raised his voice to drown Glenn out. "-Back when you two were having a _relationship_ " - by now Carl was talking to everybody. “Because Glenn and Daryl were like, sleeping together, or something, if you can imagine that-"

"Um, Carl." Sara's voice was full of discomfort. "I'm sure it's none of our business."

It didn't stop him. "Oh, but you see, it's what makes it so that we can't stick together with those people, when everyone knows it would be better that way, right, Glenn? Right?"

Glenn ground his teeth. "Seriously, Carl. Shut up."

But Carl was on a roll now, so that wasn't happening. "Because something happened, and Glenn thinks Daryl's still too mad to act like a normal human. I mean, not like he ever really did, and not like he should be making decisions that affect other people when _he only looks out for himself_!" 

By the end of it, Carl was yelling, and Glenn was distracted enough that he sent the Jeep right off the road. "That's enough, Carl! We're done! Shut the fuck up now!"

Carl did shut up, and Glenn could feel the shock coming from the others. Carl just glared at him, so angry that his earlier flush had gone dull white.

He was silent while Glenn while Glenn put the jeep into reverse. Fortunately, it wasn't stuck, and he was able to get them back on the road. But when he did, Carl reached over and put a hand over his on the stick.

This time, his voice was deadly quiet. "No."

Glenn took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "What do you mean, no?"

Carl's hand was shaking. "I mean that Daryl Dixon doesn't get to decide for me. I don’t owe him anything, and I don’t _care_ what you think...you don’t owe him either.”

Before Glenn could even react Carl threw open the passenger door and ran straight for the orchard. Taking the most direct route back up to the guest house.

" _Caaarl_!" Glenn felt something tear loose in this throat. He stared in shock, watching as Carl flat-out sprinted, darting between the rows of orange trees.

"What are you waiting for!" "Go back!" It took both Javy and Sarah pounding on Glenn's shoulders to get him to move. There was no way he could take the same route Carl had, the rows were too narrow. Glenn jammed the jeep into reverse again, turned it around, and headed at top speed back the way they'd come.

 

***

 

_Daryl_

"Well, I can't say I blame you." Mitchell Calley stood there, calm as you please, drinking coffee in his living room. He'd even offered Daryl some, which Daryl had refused. He liked coffee, hadn't had any in ages, but he didn't need the extra jitters right now. "What made you decide, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Decide what?" Calley was being polite, even understanding. Doing the country uncle act again. It set Daryl on edge, and no, he hadn't been particularly calm when he'd rung the doorbell. Thank motherfucking Glenn for that one. 

"To give up on this job?" Calley set his cup on a side table, and then stood turning it in little circles. "That will leave a mess," he said, more to himself. "My wife wouldn't have let me hear the end of it." 

Well. Might as well get to the point. Calley wasn't going to like this answer, but that didn't change the facts. They'd fulfilled more than enough of the contract to be entitled to leave with the deposit.

"Bottom line is you weren't straight with me. There was more risks out there than you told us about."

Calley still played with his cup. "Such as? You seemed more than confident your people could handle whatever we had here."

 _Keep playin' dumb, old man_. "I got no lack of confidence in my people. You wanna go count your walker population, or inventory my ammunition, you'll find we took out close to eighty of 'em in twenty four hours."

Now Calley looked up. "So what seemed to be the problem?"

"I don't bring my crew anywhere they can get bit and still turn." Daryl waited, and when Calley didn’t respond, he continued. "You know what I'm talkin' about, don't you."

Calley's smile was cool. "I think it wouldn't hurt if you explained yourself."

"You got a different breed of walkers here. They're faster, stronger, they work together - I've seen it. And on top of that, bein' vaccinated doesn’t matter."

"But you haven't seen that for yourself, have you?" Calley spoke in the same quiet voice. "So how would you know about it, exactly?"

Well, he'd been hoping to avoid this part. "Look. There was other people on your land, I ain't denying it. We found some of 'em, talked to 'em. But they're gone now."

"Are they?"

"Yeah. And, like I said, you got a hell of a lot less walkers now, and I'm getting my crew out of here. We done our job, and we'd like to be paid what we're owed." Daryl didn't like it, that they would leave this job unfinished. But he had to look out for Sophia and T-Dog, had to look out for all of their best interests. And it was in their best interests to leave this place, and Zone 21, far behind them. "I ain't askin' you for full payment. Just the deposit. You hand me the keys, and we'll wind up our business here."

There was a long, long silence. At some point Ricky had come into the room, and he waited, watching Calley instead of Daryl, as Calley picked up his coffee and drank again.

Finally he spoke. "Ricky, you know where I've kept the keys to the Escalade? In that desk drawer in my office?"

Ricky nodded and left. Calley turned to Daryl again. "I have to admit to something."

"What's that?"

"I'm a little surprised your crew didn't finish the job. You came so highly recommended."

Normally, he'd be interested, but right now he didn't give a shit who had recommended them for the job. He'd actually like to give them a piece of his mind, whoever it was.

"Well. Life's full of little disappointments like that." 

Calley nodded. Ricky came back in and handed him the keys. "I suppose you're right. I agreed to the terms of your contract, and I see no reason not to conclude our business here."

Daryl nodded. Who said he couldn't stay calm when the situation called for it? He might have to gloat at Sophia sometime, when he stopped remembering all the things that sucked about this job. He held out his hand to take the Escalade keys.

He stood staring at his empty hand after Mitchell Calley shot him.

The impact was like the time his brother had set off an M-80 right in front of him, except this was _inside_ , hot and violent and agonizing. It sent him reeling backwards a few steps before his legs gave out. With nothing to break his fall, he landed hard on the floor. 

It wasn't like he'd never felt pain before. He'd had more than his share. He'd been shot before. Stabbed, beaten, burned, you name it.

This was different. This went so far beyond any comparison that it was like being another person. Another species.

His eyes wouldn't focus, but he knew that was Calley bending down close to him.

"You're right about one thing, son." Calley's voice was far, far away. "Life is full of disappointments."

 

***

 

_Sophia_

She just revved the bike and didn’t look back. T-Dog, she prayed, would be able to take care of himself.

When a bullet kicked up turf ahead and to the right, she stayed on course, imaging the shooter adjusting his sights. Then she broke hard to the right, in hopes that he'd have over-corrected his aim and his shot would now land to her left. When it did, she gunned the engine and ducked her head low, speeding straight for the side of the main Calley house that offered more cover.

She hit the kill switch and let the bike coast into the hedges, hopping off before it even came to a complete stop. When she reached down to grab the shotgun out of its scabbard, her hands were shaking. Not good. This was not the time to fall apart.

No question about it, she was going to have to enter very carefully. No blowing a hole in the front door, even though she just wanted to fastest route inside. On hands and knees, she crawled through the privets and lantanas, peering in windows. It seemed this was the less-public side of the house. Good - she doubted Calley or anyone else was in a bedroom right now.

Flinching at the noise, she broke a window with the butt-end of the shotgun. It didn't leave a large opening, so she cracked off pieces of glass with her hands until the hole was large enough.

She pushed the heavy curtains aside as she crawled into the room. Immediately she almost sneezed from the dusty, stale air. It was obviously a room that hadn't been opened in years, and for a few seconds she turned in a circle, taking in the ornate white poster-bed, ruffled pillows, and delicate little chandelier. Tall shelves held books and horse figurines, reminding her of something Calley had said about a daughter. A girl who loved horses, and a father who couldn't protect her when the worst happened. 

With her nose pinched to keep from sneezing, she edged the door open and peeked out into the hall. Nothing. She could hear a voice, though, distant and indistinct.

Back to the wall, she crept forward. The hallway seemed to go on forever, but the voice kept getting louder. Calley. Saying things about bad judgment, and unfortunate circumstances.

So not good. The hallway opened out into the living room, and there was Calley, with his back to her, talking to-

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Daryl, on the floor, slumped against a sofa, both hands pressed to his stomach, his shirt soaked with blood.

She reacted as she had to the threat of walkers, and pumped a round into the chamber, heedless of the noise. Calley turned as she raised the shotgun.

A hand shot out and wrenched the stock downward, pulling her forward. The _boom_ as she pulled the trigger rattled the windows, and suddenly she was lying on her back on the shot-riddled floor with the shotgun pressed hard to her neck. She struggled to get her hands under it, but Ricky pressed down as he knelt on her chest, crushing the air out of all the parts she used to breathe.

She kicked, but she couldn't dislodge him. As the edges of her vision started to blacken and narrow, she heard Calley's voice.

"Let the young lady up, Ricky."

Just as quickly has he'd thrown her, Ricky was standing with the shotgun in his hand, comfortably pointing it at her. She rolled over, coughing against the pressure in her bruised throat. When she raised her head, she could see Daryl. He was pale, head lolled over to one side, but his eyes were open.

And he blinked. Sophia forced herself up to her knees. She wanted to shoot Calley, kill him, take revenge, but she knew she had one slim advantage. She had to use it.

"Please," she said, holding her hands up. Harmless. Beseeching. "I don't want him to die. Let me go to him." Her voice was hoarse. "Please."

Calley and Ricky both watched her for a long moment, and then Calley finally nodded. "Be my guest."

She didn't get up, but crawled across the carpet she'd ruined with her shotgun blast until she got to Daryl. 

She leaned close to him. "How bad is it?" She watched his shallow breathing, watched him swallow.

"Bad enough." His voice was thready. "Damn you for comin' in here."

"What did you think I was going to do, stay back there and cry about it?" she replied. 

He made a sound that could've been a laugh. "Should've. Now you're stuck in here...and cryin' about it." Bloody fingers brushed her cheek, and she realized tears were running down her face.

"Don't talk." She pushed his hand aside. "Here, I need to see." He moved his other hand, uncharacteristically obedient.

The hole wasn't large; Calley had used a small .22 revolver. But the entrance wound said nothing about how much the bullet had bounced around inside. Sophia reached around Daryl’s back, probing carefully with her fingers. No exit wound. The bullet was still in him.

Without even thinking she stripped off her tank top and folded it up. “We have to try to stop the bleeding,” she said, putting it over the bullet hole and putting his hands on top. “Keep pressure right there.” _Stop_ the bleeding? It had already soaked the front of his shirt and ran down the sides. 

And he was probably bleeding internally - that she couldn’t stop. As gently as she could, Sophia pressed down around the wound with her fingers. Daryl grunted. “Cut it out.”

His stomach didn’t feel swollen - according to what Zoe had said about gunshot wounds, that was a good sign; he hadn’t bled enough internally to start distending the abdominal cavity. “Are you having any trouble breathing?” If the bullet had nicked a lung, they were in real trouble.

He was already breathing fast and shallow. He sort of shrugged, and then grimaced at the pain. “Dunno. No.”

“Okay.” Sophia turned her head to look for Calley and Ricky. There were standing across the room, talking in low tones. Calley still had the revolver, and Ricky held her shotgun, damn him to hell. She spoke quietly. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

His eyes were closed. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know. Where’s T-Dog?”

Sophia bit her lip. “Two of Calley’s men surprised us at the guest house. T was going to try to hotwire the Escalade, and they just kind of - showed up, right after we heard you get shot.”

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“Got on the bike. Fortunately they couldn’t aim for shit.”

The look on his face was trying for pissed off, and it fell piteously short. “You coulda been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” She recentered his hands more firmly over her folded-up shirt, trying to come up with some sort of idea to get them the hell out of there.

She turned to see Calley watching her, and she suddenly felt vulnerable and self-conscious in just her bra.

But he wasn’t looking at her in that way. He walked over and sat on the couch a few feet away from them. “This is a pretty sticky situation, wouldn’t you say, young lady?” He held the gun loosely, and she tried to make herself not stare at it.

 _Stay calm, stay calm. Think_. “Yes.” Oh, that was brilliant. 

But Calley wasn’t really paying attention to her. “Ricky. Go into Meghan’s room and get something out of her closet for Sophia to put on, so she’s not so uncomfortable.” 

Sophia hunched closer to Daryl. Calley wasn’t supposed to notice things like that, or, if he did, he should be happy about her discomfort. She touched Daryl’s shirt to see if the bleeding had slowed. It felt sticky, so that was good. It had to be better than it being still slippery wet.

There was a soft throat-clearing behind her. She startled, and turned to see Ricky holding out a pink and white t-shirt. She wiped her bloody hands on her pants, and then took it. “Thank you.” She pulled it on.

Calley inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

She looked at Daryl, and he nodded at her, almost imperceptibly. _Keep him talking. If he’s distracted, he might give you an opening_. “Was Meghan...your daughter?” She pictured the white and gold bedroom she’d entered earlier.

He nodded. “My youngest. Rebecca was my oldest, she married Ricky when she graduated from FSU. Meghan was sixteen.”

Books on the shelves, and horses. A girl younger than she was now. Sophia struggled to think of something to say. 

It turned out she didn’t have to say anything. Calley continued talking. “When she first got sick, it was just a fever. Then it got worse, and worse. And by then the hospitals were filling up with the epidemic. Nobody knew what it was, and people were dying so fast.” He thumbed the gun’s trigger guard. “We were afraid to take her to the emergency room. And right when we finally decided we had to go, she died.”

“I’m sorry.” Sophia wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. 

Calley was silent for a long time. Sophia looked down at Daryl. His breathing was still shallow, but it had slowed. She wished she could ask for some water for him, but it seemed wrong to push. Let Calley talk. Let him relax into his memories. Maybe let him realize he hadn’t meant to shoot anyone.

Calley finally continued. “My wife just held her. Lay down on the bed with her and wouldn’t let her go.” He looked at Sophia, no expression in his eyes. “Then Meghan started breathing again. She turned her head. She reached for her mother.”

Sophia knew what came next. “She bit your wife,” she said softly.

He nodded. He raised one hand to his face. “On...her cheek.” The words came harder now. “We got her free, but it was too late.”

Sophia jumped as she heard Ricky’s voice from right behind her. “Mitch, don’t. You don’t owe them any explanation of anything.”

But Calley looked at her again, and rested his hands on his revolver. “I shot them both. I put down my little girl. And my wife begged me, she begged me to take care of her as well.”

“You had to do it,” Sophia said.

Calley nodded, and for a few seconds it felt like they were the only people in the world. “Have you learned that, already? That sometimes you have to do things, horrible things-” he stopped abruptly, as if the memory had simply popped like a bubble. “Mr. Dixon is bleeding to death, Sophia.”

She refused to acknowledge what he had said. “Please just let us go. We’ll leave. You can do whatever you wanted to do with your land. We’ll just leave and you don’t have to do anything.”

He shook his head. “People have choices, Sophia. You and your friends have made the wrongs ones, here. And now you’re stuck with the consequences.” 

As if to punctuate his grim words, gunshots rang out in the distance.

Calley stood abruptly. Ricky aimed the shotgun and her and Daryl, and she held up her hands. 

Calley turned to Ricky. “Something’s gone wrong out there.” 

“You want me to go check?”

He shook his head. “Jake and Barry will handle it.” He nodded towards Sophia. “The girl got in through Meghan’s bedroom. Go make sure that can’t happen again, in any of the rooms. 

Ricky left, and Calley started pacing in front of the wide windows.

 _Shit_. Why hadn’t she grabbed for the gun while he was distracted? Sophia cursed herself inwardly for not going for it. She bent down to check Daryl’s wound.

Calley was right. The bleeding hadn’t slowed, her folded tank top was already soaked. 

Whatever was happening outside, things could hardly get much worse than they already were.

 

***

 

_Carl_

It took Carl a few minutes of running to realize that perhaps he hadn’t made the best decision. Maybe he should have tried to talk Glenn into turning around, and they could’ve all come back together.

But no, he hadn’t had time for that. He had to just go for it.

Dodging through the orange trees, he half expected to run into walkers, so he kept the pistol in one hand and the machete in the other - it probably wasn’t safe to run with it, but it was better than having it bump against his legs the whole time. 

By the time he cleared the orchard and could see the horse barn, he was sucking so much wind. His lungs hurt all the way up to his shoulders. The barn was located on slightly higher ground; he knew that, so he slowed as he approached it. He’d be able to see the guest house from here.

Unfortunately, he could only see the back of it, where nothing was going on. Obviously. Sophia and T-Dog and Daryl were probably loading up their vehicles. Perhaps they were even at the main house, working things out with Calley. 

“Okay. Just a little further. Just get there.” He reasoned with himself as he bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. Then he straightened and took off again.

As he reached the guest house, he slowed. He could hear voices around front, and they weren’t familiar ones. Two men. His stomach twisted. Not a good sign.

Creeping closer, he edged around the building. There wasn’t much cover here, like the ornamental shrubs and grasses around the main house, so he had to be careful. Gun poised in front of him, as if he was prepared to shoot, he peered around the corner.

T-Dog was leaning against the truck his hands against the side. His head was turned away from Carl, towards two of Calley’s ranch hands, standing several yards away, in front of the Escalade. Both had guns, but they appeared to be uninterested in T-Dog, now that they had more or less immobilized him. 

Carl swallowed. If he could shoot one of Calley’s men, maybe T-Dog could move in and disarm the other one. Carl wouldn’t be willing to bet on his own ability to take them both out - his best chance was his first shot, while they weren’t aware of him and he could take his time to aim.

 _Stop, slow down, think._ Glenn’s admonitions ran through his head. Most of the time when Carl heard Glenn say things like this he would fire back with “You never do!”, and Glenn would simply answer, “This is different.” Different because Glenn took his promises to Carl’s parents very, very seriously. Carl knew that. 

So he amended his previous estimate. His best chance was his first shot, if he could first alert T-Dog to what he was doing. Hmm. It would only take a few steps to get from his hiding place at the side of the house, to the front of the truck, where he could duck down and again be invisible to the men. Yes. That would have to be it.

The ranch hands were facing each other, talking, but with one turn of the head, they could see him. The breathless feeling from when he’d been running came back, and he tried to slow things down - his thoughts, his breathing, his heart. Panic was not the way to get this done. 

Then, abruptly, one of the hands turned and pointed towards the main house, asking the other man a question. They both turned their gazes in that direction, and Carl moved. _One, two, three, four, five_ \- five steps and he was screened by the truck. T-Dog was not six feet away from him.

He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “Hey. T-Dog!” he said as loudly as he dared. No response. Shit. Carl leaned out a little further, really pushing his luck. “T-Dog! _Theodore_!”

T-Dog’s head turned slightly, and Carl saw his nod of recognition. He didn’t look happy, but, hey - he didn’t really have room to be picky right now, did he? 

“Where’s Sophia?”

T-Dog waited until he seemed sure the men were deep in conversation and then he jerked his head towards the main house. “Up there with Daryl. I think he’s shot.” 

Shit, shit, shit. This was bad. He was going to have to figure out a way to take Calley’s thugs out by himself, or at least one of them. And he was already at a big disadvantage, with a small pistol versus two shotguns.

Carl prepared himself to have to disappear quickly if the men looked their way, and showed Theodore his gun. Then he pointed towards the man with the shotgun, which, as far as he could tell, would be an easier shot to make. Then, he pointed to T-Dog, and the other man. “As soon as I shoot, take him out,” he hissed.

T-Dog looked grim. “You sure you can make that shot?” he whispered.

Ugh. Either he could or he couldn’t. Carl sighted the man with the shotgun. A kill would take a head shot, but the torso offered him more surface area, and a bigger target. He just had to hope against hope it would bring the guy down and give T-Dog an opening.

T-Dog murmured out of the corner of his mouth, “You shoot on my signal, Carl. Not before.”

Carl nodded. T-Dog had to be waiting for the other man, the one Carl wasn’t shooting at, to stand more at ease with his weapon.

“Ready?” T-Dog asked. 

Carl took aim. “Yeah.” He sighted his target, the man’s denim-clad chest, and waited. He saw T-Dog hold up his hand.

“Hey! Who the hell’s that?” Carl’s target moved suddenly, and his partner did as well. Startled, Carl and T-Dog looked towards the commotion.

The Jeep. Of all the fucked-up scenarios, _now_ is when Glenn shows up? Carl wanted to throw things. 

Then he saw his original target, the man with the shotgun, aiming it at the vehicle. Carl stood up and aimed.

His first shot went wide, and both of the men whirled around. “T-Dog! Get down!” Carl yelled. He squeezed off another shot, just to buy some time. Then the shotgun boomed, and he had to hit the dirt as well.

This was the worst possible situation - he had landed wrong on his shoulder, and his aim was shaky as he tried again. “Carl!” he heard someone yelling. More gunshots. Everything slowed way down, and all he could see was that big shotgun barrel, trained right on his face.

Carl took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

He’d been going for a body shot, and it knocked the man backwards, shotgun falling to the pavement. When Carl’s vision cleared, he saw the man on the ground holding his neck, and a bright spray of arterial blood splattering against the side of the truck. 

Several more gunshots rang out, and Carl rolled into a ball, holding his head - he couldn’t even tell who was shooting at whom.

Finally, there was a hand on his shoulder, and he struggled to raise his gun. “No, Carl! It’s okay!” He was looking at T-Dog’s worried face. “You hit?”

Carl took inventory of his pains. The shoulder was bad. His knees were skinned and bleeding. But nothing felt like a gunshot wound. “No. ‘M okay.”

He looked up to see Glenn running towards them, Sara behind him. Javy stayed at the Jeep, rifle at the ready - he had apparently been the one to take down the other ranch hand. The one Carl had shot was already motionless, with what looked like gallons of blood running out of his body.

Glenn dropped to his knees next to Carl. “Are you okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed Carl and shook him so hard Carl’s teeth clicked together. “You are so _stupid_ , I should...I should...”

Carl held onto Glenn’s wrists. “You should yell at me later,” he gasped. 

Glenn looked really, really angry, as angry as Carl had seen him in, well...ever, maybe? But they just didn’t have time for it right now. “T-Dog thinks Daryl got shot. Up at the house. And Sophia’s there too.”

Glenn stopped, and his fingers let go of Carl’s shirt. He looked at T-Dog, stricken. “Are you sure?”

T-Dog had picked up the dead man’s shotgun. He wiped the blood off its stock with his shirt, and then handed it to Sara. “It jammed when he dropped it. Know how to clear it?” 

She nodded, and went to work doing just that. T-Dog turned to Glenn. “Pretty sure. Otherwise they’d be back by now.”

“Was there just one shot?” Carl asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sophia won’t leave Daryl if he’s in trouble.” Carl scrambled to his feet. “We have to go, come on!”

“No!” Glenn grabbed his arm with an iron grip.

Carl rounded on him, ready to fight. “I don’t _care_ that you’re still angry at Daryl, I’m gonna help Sophia no matter what you want!”

Glenn held fast. “Carl. Listen.” When Carl stopped struggling, he continued. “We are going to help them. But no running in there blind. We have to think this through, plan our attack.” Glenn looked at T-Dog, and beyond him to Sara and Javy, who were nearby with their guns at the ready. “Everybody with me on this?” 

“Absolutely.” T-Dog said, and the others nodded. “What you got in mind?”

“Have you been in the house before?” Glenn asked T-Dog.

T-Dog frowned. “Well, we didn’t see all of it. They let us in the front door, and there’s this foyer, that opens into this huge living room - it’s kind of the middle of the house. Kitchen’s off to the left, and some kind of sunroom, far as I could see. And Calley’s office. I assume it’s bedrooms to the right, but I dunno for sure.”

Glenn nodded. “Okay. Here’s what we do. They aren’t going to be in the bedrooms right now - Calley will have them out in the main part of the house.” He turned to Carl. “I’m thinking we go in through the back bedroom - there’s that window with the broken latch, they probably haven’t fixed it.”

“What, what now?” T-Dog’s voice got about an octave higher. “You been _in_ that house?”

Carl grinned as Glenn shrugged. “Come on - give me a little credit. Calley used to go out riding sometimes. You think I’d pass up an opportunity like that?”

T-Dog shook his head, obviously impressed. “Guess not. Forgot what a stealthy booger you used to be.” 

“And that’s our key word here, stealth.” He looked at T-Dog. “We’re probably going to need to get out of here quick. Are you loaded and ready to go?”

T-Dog pointed at the Escalade. “All but that beast right there.”

“Leave it.”

“Oh, hell no!” T-Dog was passionate. “These motherfuckers“ - he pointed at the dead men. “Were throwin’ around all kinds of racist shit, and accusin’ me of stealin’.” His smile was cold. “You bet your sweet ass I ain’t leavin’ it if I don’t have to.”

Glenn took this in stride. He gestured to Javy and Sara. “Help him with whatever he needs. Be ready to roll in and get us out of there.”

“I’m coming with you.” Carl stood up. “Don’t even think I’m not. I mean it.”

Glenn actually laughed. “Fine. You are coming with me.” His eyes pinned Carl. “And you’re gonna do exactly what I say this time. Give me your word, Carl.” 

The others were already moving, T-Dog and Javy working to get into the Escalade, and Sara arranging all the weapons on the tailgate of the truck, checking them one by one.

“I give you my word. Let’s go already.” 

Glenn started towards the main house at a jog, and Carl fell in behind him.

 

***

 

_Glenn_

They were lucky - the back bedroom window latch remained unrepaired. Glenn popped it open, took a quick look around, and then went in with Carl right behind him.

"Where do you think he has them?" Carl whispered, but Glenn could hear something else, something very disconcerting. He held up a hand, and Carl shut up.

Sure enough, a door closed right in the next room. Carl's mouth worked soundlessly, and Glenn waved a hand, motioning him to one side of the door. "Whatever you do, _don't_ shoot," he whispered.

There was no time to reply, the door between them was opening. Glenn flattened himself against the wall and watched as a shotgun barrel preceded a man into the room. It was Calley’s son-in-law, Ricky.

Ricky walked forward, and for a split second Glenn thought he and Carl might have time to duck out without being seen. Then Ricky saw draperies blowing in the breeze from the still-open window, and froze.

Glenn jumped him from behind, trying to put the guy into a headlock. They were roughly the same height, which made it hard to get an advantage. They struggled across the floor, while Glenn’s hold kept slipping.

Carl ran over and grabbed the shotgun in both hands, trying to wrench it out of Ricky’s grip while Glenn held on for dear life from behind. Fortunately he managed to keep his arm too tight for the guy to yell, but they were making a ton of noise wrestling around.

 _Shit_. Ricky ripped his shotgun free and bashed Carl in the face with the stock. Carl stumbled backwards and landed on his ass, blood pouring out of his nose. It had the effect of making Glenn more grimly determined, trying to kick Ricky’s feet out from under him and get him on the floor, but he was starting to lose this struggle. And there was no way he could free one arm to get to his gun. The fucking guy was strong and squirmy - and he was going to shoot them both if he got free.

There was a flash from the floor, and Glenn saw Carl scrambling to his knees. Suddenly he was forced backwards against the wall, and it knocked the breath out of him. Still he hung on, squeezing tighter, not letting go, until his eyes focused on Carl's bloody face.

Glenn felt the struggling man in his arms lose coordination and fold forward. Shocked, he let him fall.

Carl backed up, knife pulling free as Ricky's body fell. They both stared at him on the floor as the blood poured out of the stab wound in the middle of his chest. 

"Javy told me to take his knife. Said it might come in handy." Carl dropped it on the floor, his hands shaking.

Glenn said a silent prayer of thanks for Javy's foresight. "You'll have to tell him it did."

Carl rubbed a hand across his face, smearing the blood of his victim in with his own. "I think he broke my nose."

Glenn nodded. "Probably. Hopefully it'll stop bleeding on its own." Rather than let Carl think about things any more, he bent down to pick up the knife, and wiped it on the carpet. "We're here for Sophia and Daryl, remember? Come on."

That snapped Carl out of it. He nodded and took the knife, and then pointed. "Take the shotgun too. It's Sophia's anyhow."

"Right." Glenn grabbed it. "We gotta move fast, before Calley realizes his man isn't coming back."

They moved silently into the hall, past the other rooms, until they had a partially obstructed view of the main living area. Calley paced in front of the windows.

When his back was turned, Glenn dropped to the floor, pulling Carl along with him. They crawled as fast as they could on their stomachs, stopping behind pieces of furniture. Glenn had the crazy thought of being glad whoever decorated the house thought bigger was better - it was easier to hide that way.

"Where are they?" Carl whispered as they crouched behind a loveseat.

If Daryl had been shot, chances were good he was lying on the floor. It was a lot of potential surface area, and one of them - meaning Glenn - was going to have to make it over to the other side of the huge room somehow. 

"Stay here," he told Carl. When Carl started to protest, Glenn put a hand over his mouth. "No argument. With you here, and me on the other side, we'll have Calley flanked. Better chance one of us gets a clear shot. Understand?" 

Carl glared, but he nodded, so Glenn took his hand away. Now it was harder. He was going to have to time his crawl perfectly - back and into the kitchen, behind the island, back out again, and then through a harrowing stretch of bare floor until he could finally stop at the far side of a bookcase that he hoped wasn't narrower than it looked. He didn't hesitate, just went for it.

Inexplicably, his first thought was that the struggle in the bedroom had knocked off his hat. He'd left it behind. For some reason it made him feel more vulnerable than crawling across the open floor, trying to go fast and quiet even though the floor was hell on his knees.

"There's something I don't understand." Sophia's voice shocked Glenn so much he launched himself the last few feet and skidded across the kitchen tile behind the island. 

"Why did you let the government test the new strain of the virus here? After all that happened to your family?" Sophia's voice continued, and if Glenn was guessing, she was on the floor behind Calley, obscured from view by the furniture. And Daryl was probably there too.

"You're mistaken." Calley's voice was quiet, calm - how was that even _possible_ , when it seemed like the very floor was vibrating from Glenn's heartbeat?

"The government wants my land, yes. And Mr. Dixon was correct in his assessment that they'll probably turn it into fortified border territory once they cut loose South Florida. But the government had nothing to do with the agent being tested." Calley was unconcerned. "That was done by a chemical research firm I invested in years ago. They've developed a number of the treatments I've used in my orchards. This didn't seem all that different."

"Not all that different?" Sophia's voice got louder. Angrier. "Those were trees! These were _people_!"

"Well, young lady, if you'd like to extend the generalization - weren't those dead bodies walking around out there people once? The ones you've been putting out of their misery, and getting paid for it?" It sounded like Calley thought he'd made a perfectly justifiable comparison. "We're not long for this world, any of us."

"Not if you mean people who have nobody to care about or help them - just because someone's alone and desperate doesn't mean they're dead already!" By now Glenn couldn't tell if she was crying or not, but he knew she'd passed the point of caring what she said. "Just because you couldn't protect your family doesn't give you the right to do whatever you want!"

At this, Glenn heard the unmistakable rustlings of fast movement. And then, for the first time since he'd sent them away, he heard Daryl's voice. 

"Don't you touch her! You-" the words, hoarse and painful, ended abruptly and with a groan. More struggling, and Sophia raging "Let _go_ of me, you son of a bitch!"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sophia," Calley sounded a little breathless. "But if you try that again, you will be very sorry you did." All sounds of motion stopped. "Don't think that Mr. Dixon is in all the pain he could be, by any means."

Glenn put together the scene in his head. Sophia's words had gotten to Calley, and he grabbed her, which made Daryl protest and probably got him kicked or pistol-whipped for his efforts. Now Calley still had a grip on Sophia, Glenn would bet almost anything, holding his gun to her and easily able to shoot Daryl as well.

"And now I'm starting to wonder why Ricky hasn't come back yet. Is your other...colleague here as well, Sophia? Maybe waiting to take me out?" There was the sound of a hammer clicking. "Maybe it would be best for all involved if I ended this now."

"Let her go."

Oh, Jesus. Carl. 

There was nothing else he could do. Glenn scrambled to his feet, ready to take a shot at Calley, praying that Sophia wasn't in his way...

But the only thing he could see was the Escalade barreling across the lawn, heading straight for the windows behind Calley.

"Sophia!" he screamed. "Get down!" 

And then everything exploded. Shattering glass and ruined timber rocketed in every direction as windows and walls caved in around the massive black nose of the Escalade. It ground to a steaming halt, right where Calley and Sophia had been standing a split-second before.

Glenn could hear coughing to his left. Barely able to see through the swirling dust and radiator steam, he went towards it.

Carl, crouched on the floor, still clutching Daryl. Glenn stared. Carl must have vaulted over the couch and grabbed Daryl just as the car smashed through. Daryl was limp, but it was possible Carl had saved him from being run over.

"Get Sophia," Carl gasped. "I saw her push Calley away."

By now T-Dog was out of the Escalade, shotgun in hand. "Glenn! Is Calley dead?" His eyes were wild. "Where is everybody?"

"I'm here!" Sophia called from the side of the room. T-Dog went to her and helped her to her feet. "You okay?"

Her hands were bloody. "Just some cuts." She pushed broken timbers out of the way. "Where's Daryl?" she called.

"Carl’s got him. Where's _Calley_?"

Sophia had picked up a gun from the wreckage. Glenn watched her wade through the debris to a crumpled form on the carpet.

"I wish your family hadn't died the way they did." Her voice was flat. "But you should've just finished the job."

The gun went off, once. Glenn turned away, not wanting to see the bullet find its target.

"Glenn!" Carl was struggling to get Daryl off the floor. Glenn stumbled over to help, and saw the wet mess of blood that was the entire front of Daryl’s shirt. 

“Oh, God,” he whispered, fingers up high under Daryl’s jaw. “Please.”

The pulse was rapid and faint, but it was there. He pulled one of Daryl’s arms over his shoulder while Carl took the other.

T-Dog was back in the driver’s seat of the Escalade, cursing it. 

“What, what’s wrong?” Glenn yelled. “We gotta get out of here!”

“It’s fucked. Radiator’s shredded!” T-Dog swung back out. “Thought it might hold up better.”

Well, the SUV had saved them a minute ago, but now Glenn was starting to panic. “So what do we do?”

Sophia had joined T-Dog in yanking furniture and ruined wood away from the Escalade so they could make their way out. “Glenn! Come help!”

“What about that stuff?” He jerked his head towards the bookcase full of meds. “Maybe there’s something that might help Daryl!”

“Grab a couple of boxes and come on!” Glenn didn’t hesitate, he left Carl to handle Daryl for the thirty seconds it took him to make his selections. Pain meds. A small box of what he knew was a powerful antibiotic. Something that appeared to be bandages. He tucked the things under one arm and went back to Carl and Daryl. “What now?”

Javy and Sara are right outside! Let’s go!”

Apparently T-Dog had led the rescue convoy thinking it might very well be the Escalade’s last ride. They hauled out of there and left it smoking where it was, embedded in a dead man’s house.

Glenn was in the back seat of the jeep with Daryl, while T-Dog drove and Sophia dug frantically through the boxes Glenn had grabbed. Packs of pills spilled onto the floor and she ignored them in favor of large, square pads of gauze wrapped in sterile paper.

She leaned over the back of her seat and handed Glenn a small knife. "Get rid of his shirt, I need to see."

Glenn slit Daryl's shirt up the front. As he pulled the fabric away, it made a wet, sticky sound. The bullet hole itself was fairly small, but that was no indication of how much damage it had done inside.

Sophia pushed a thick gauze pad into Glenn's hands. "Keep this on it," she commanded, and then she took hold of Daryl's slack face. "Hey. Daryl." She hesitated a second, and then slapped him, gently and carefully. "Daryl. I need you awake." Her voice got more strident. "Walkers are coming! Someone's touching your crossbow!" 

At this, Daryl's eyelids opened about halfway. "You're full of shit," he mumbled.

Glenn joined in. "Hey, Daryl, you have to stay awake, okay? Are you in pain?" He looked at Sophia. “What about that other box? It has ampoules of Demerol.”

“Did you see any syringes?” She started digging in the boxes again.

“No!” T-Dog put a warning hand on Sophia’s wrist. “You can’t use strong pain medication in a patient who’s bleeding to…who’s bleeding like that.” 

Sophia cursed and shoved the boxes away. Glenn heard the little glass vials clink together.

Daryl's eyes closed again, and his forehead wrinkled. "Know what you have to do..." he swallowed a couple of times, and Glenn started looking around for a water bottle. "After. You put one through my skull. Don't wait."

Glenn gaped at him, but then he remembered Daryl was a carrier. He looked at Sophia.

Her face was grim. "Shut up, Daryl. That's not happening." She handed Glenn a bottle of water. "Just try to drink something. You're dehydrated."

Glenn held the bottle. Daryl only managed to get a little bit down before he started coughing. This obviously hurt; he gritted his teeth and the muscles in his neck stood out.

"Okay, okay, we can try that again later." Glenn looked at Sophia. "What do we do now?"

She looked grim. "We drive."

"Ain't nothin' between here and Cocoa," T-Dog added. "The FEMA med center there isn't great, but it's our best chance."

Glenn stared. "How far is that?"

T-Dog and Sophia exchanged looks. "Get on the radio and tell the others to stay on our tail," he said. "Pedal to the metal, roll til' we drop."

Daryl’s eyes rolled a little, and then focused again as he looked at Glenn. His voice was reedy. "So Calley shot me. We take him out?"

Glenn nodded. "Sophia did."

Daryl turned his head to look at her, and he smiled. "That's my girl."

Sophia went still as Glenn watched her. He understood.

Daryl Dixon had probably never said those words to her before. 

She had the walkie clutched in shaking hands. "Carl, you there?" her voice trembled. "Come in Carl, Javy, Sara...somebody."

The truck was right on their back bumper, so that wasn't really a worry - Sophia relayed T-Dog's instruction, and there was some discussion about the purity checkpoint. Glenn ignored it. Nobody cared about people leaving the FZ - the Feds would watch your tail lights and make bets on your odds.

Glenn looked down at Daryl again. His hands kept sliding off the cloth pad Glenn had put over his wound, so Glenn finally just held it in place himself. "Do you want more water?"

"Nah. Ain't thirsty."

Glenn looked down at all the blood, at Daryl's hair plastered to his head with sweat. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. 'M okay. Doesn't hurt as much now, either." Daryl's eyes fluttered closed again, and Glenn put a hand on his face. 

"Come on. You gotta make an effort here, okay?" Think of things to say. "T-Dog said all we gotta do is get you to Cocoa, and they'll patch you up."

Daryl made a little puff of air that could have been a laugh. "Yeah, T. Zoe prob'ly can't wait...to get her hands on me. Rough me up a little."

T-Dog stayed focused on the road ahead. "She's gonna rough you up all right. Fix you first, then kick your ass for gettin' shot in the first place."

"Where's Sophia?"

Sophia wiped her face before turning to look at Daryl, and Glenn could see she'd been crying. "I'm here."

"We left without gettin' paid. 'M sorry 'bout that. I fucked up."

"Daryl, nobody cares!" Her voice threatened to break apart.

T-Dog reached over and touched her arm. "Get the phone out and start scanning for a signal. Soon as you get one, you call Zoe and let her know what happened. Tell her we're comin' as fast as we can, and to be ready."

Sophia nodded. When she looked at Glenn, he nodded. "It'll be okay." It had to be, right? It had to be.

At a loss for what to do next, Glenn picked up the water bottle again, and slid a hand under Daryl's neck. "You've lost a lot of blood. You need to try to drink something."

Daryl didn't even protest, just let Glenn feed him small sips of water. It was going from bad to worse. Where was the guy who would argue about everything, who would fight you for trying to get him to do what was good for him?

Daryl swallowed and pushed the water away. But he held on to Glenn's hand. 

"You came back."

Glenn nodded. His voice didn't want to work, at the moment. He could feel the bumps in the highway, hear the rough whine of the Jeep's engine pushed to its limit. 

"And you...came back. Five years ago. I didn't wait. But you came back." Daryl paused longer between each quiet statement. 

Glenn shook his head. "Don't - just. It's okay. It's not important. I'm here now." 

Daryl nodded, and then he grimaced. His grip on Glenn's hand tightened. "Good." 

Glenn's throat was sore and tight. He made himself smile. "Try not to talk now. I'm not going anywhere."

Daryl shook his head, and when he tried to lift himself up off the car seat, Glenn had to lean over him, ease him back down. 

"Stop...tellin' me...I need to...." Daryl struggled to find words, and then trailed off.

When Daryl remained quiet, Glenn spoke again. "I'm not angry at you anymore. None of that stuff matters. It's forgotten."

Daryl swallowed. "Wouldn't blame you - if you was. Still mad. But I'm not either. Never shoulda been."

"It's _okay_."

"It's not. All that shit, because I didn't tell you. You ain't gonna stop me now."

Glenn's heart hammered. "Okay, okay. Tell me." _Don't be the things I wanted to hear five years ago. I'll go the rest of my life without hearing it, as long as I get to listen to you be a jerk and deny your feelings and every other stupid thing you do, because you're you. Don't let this be the last thing you say to me._

For the longest time, Daryl just held Glenn's gaze. Then he took a deep breath, and another one, as if it took a huge effort. 

"I ain't got...a pretty way to say it. An' I wish...wish I did. 'Cuz now..." He stopped, and breathed again. "I spent these five years pissed off. And wishin' I could change it. Wishin' I hadn't been such a coward."

"Daryl. Stop," Glenn whispered.

Daryl smiled. "How you gonna...make me stop? Couldn't even...make myself stop. Wanting you." He reached up took hold of a lock of Glenn's hair. "Wish I'd waited for you."

He took another one of those deep breaths, and started to say something else. Then his eyes rolled, and his hand dropped.

"Daryl? Shit, _Daryl_!" Glenn thumbed one of Daryl's eyelids up and saw only white. He pressed his fingers into the side of Daryl's neck. Nothing.

"Glenn!" Sophia, hanging over the back of the seat again, pushed his hands out of the way. She held Daryl's face steady while she checked for his pulse. Glenn stared at her; tears were running down her face and he could feel his own. 

She took her hand away. "It's okay. He passed out."

Glenn let his head drop until it rested against Daryl's clammy forehead. After a few seconds, he felt shallow puffs of breath.

"Go faster, T-Dog," he said. "Go faster." T-Dog nodded, face tight, and the jeep's engine rumbled, laboring even harder.

Phone still gripped in her other hand, Sophia picked up the walkie and hit the button. "You guys?" she said. "Floor it."

 

***

 

_Epilogue_

Their lives had changed. For the better, for the worse. The words stood out in his mind because he'd just made vows that contained them. Theodore smiled all the way across Shep's bar at Zoe, luminous in her white dress as she let Carl squire her around the dance floor.

That was one of the better parts. The biggest better part - the best part. Theodore took another swallow of his drink. Carl and Glenn being there was another one. And Daryl's recovery, after a med center doctor who wasn't even a surgeon had managed to get the bullet out of him, along with his damaged spleen. Zoe had stepped in as surgical assistant and anesthesiologist. 

Which led him to think about the worse parts. The Feds had rolled in several weeks later to confiscate what little equipment and pharmaceuticals the med center had. And Cocoa Beach had put up a fight. One that ended in the retreat of FZ troops, but also the deaths of several residents. Including Javier Medina, who had sacrificed himself to blow up a tank. And including Charlie Shepard, who had run into the middle of the conflict, guns blazing, and had taken over twenty Feds with him. Candles flickered at the end of the bar for them, along with Charlie's beat-up hat and Javy's and Alice's wedding rings. And mementos of others, all of them loved and missed.

Thanks to all of their efforts, the med center had survived the assault. It was in even worse shape than before, but it was still standing, and still had some equipment and a small cache of medicines. Zoe and every single one of the doctors and staff who made it had stayed, and dedicated themselves to keeping the place running. And there was a small cadre of other people chipping in. Sara Ziegler may have never gotten to finish med school, but she'd still be a doctor someday. Eddie Criss, the kid who'd never left after his dad died, was a nurse.

And Trixie Potrero, unreliable tech pirate, had shown up one day with her grandparents in tow. She'd heard what had happened, and when someone (Sophia) brought up the whole tag fiasco, Trixie made good. She worked tirelessly, repairing and reconfiguring every bit of equipment she could get her hands on.

Theodore raised his glass to all of them, living and dead. The road was rising to meet them, over and over again. 

"You look far too sad for your wedding day," Zoe gave up dancing to come put her arms around him. "If you're not careful, I may start thinking you have regrets."

Theodore kissed her, as drunken whoops and applause broke out around them. "Never, baby. You're the best thing ever happened to me." He straightened the drooping flower in her hair. "And as Daryl once said, I'm damn lucky I got you to buy the milk when you got the cow...I mean...dammit. That came out wrong."

Zoe tapped him lightly on the cheek. "Don't pay attention to anything that _pendejo_ says." She sat on his lap and stretched out a foot. "He stepped all over me when we were dancing earlier. No rhythm at all."

Oh, Theodore wished he'd seen that. He'd been lucky enough to be dancing with Zoe earlier when Sophia had hauled Daryl out onto the dance floor. There had been lots of insults about square-dancing before he'd given her a couple of minutes of a passable two-step. Zoe must have tried something complicated with him. _Habanera_ seemed to be the band's specialty, but they threw in a pretty good variety of dance music and old-school Motown and reggae. Amazing, considering it was two guys with beat-up trumpets, an old lady playing a trombone, and a kid who switched between mismatched drums, an upright bass, and an accordion.

"T!" Sophia practically ran into them. "You owe me a dance!"

T-Dog looked past her to her current partner, Glenn, who mouthed _Please, I'm dying_ at him. T-Dog wasn't sure he wanted to commit. Sophia danced like she was _serious_. And he'd seen her tossing back glasses of punch that he knew contained far more homebrewed spirits than anything else.

Zoe leaned close to him. "We still have to cut the cake."

Someone had found little bride and groom figurines for the top, but Theodore was pretty sure it was cake in name only - Cocoa was in the middle of a serious food shortage. He whispered in her ear. "Are you sure you don't just wanna slip out of here early?"

Her smile was enough of an answer for him. He winked at Sophia. "Tell you what. I gotta go over and let my lovely wife smash cake in my face in the name of marital tradition. Dance after that?" By now Zoe had him on his feet and was pulling him away, laughing.

"You better!" Sophia called, and turned to let Eddie coax her back out onto the floor as the band played on.

*

The punch was _terrible_. Carl had never tasted anything like it. Not that he'd experienced much booze in his not-quite-sixteen years. But this stuff had to double as engine cleaner or something.

But still he sat at a table by himself, getting more and more depressed as the wedding festivities around him got more and more...festive. Everybody was dancing, hugging, laughing, crying, kissing...yeah, way more of that was going on than needed to.

Not that he had lacked for dance partners or anything. A couple of girls had pulled him out onto the floor, and a couple of motherly-types, hell - he was an orphaned teenage boy. Guaranteed pity dances. And then there was one with Zoe, in that long white dress that clung to her like water. Simultaneously awkward and awesome.

But now he sat. Watching. Considering his new life. South Florida had only recently been cut loose from the Federal Zones, but Cocoa Beach was still far better than anywhere Carl had lived since the plague. Food was meager sometimes, but you always had some. They lived in a dinky, rundown cinderblock cottage - it smelled and had almost no furniture, but it was _theirs_. People looked out for each other. Glenn said this was a good way to live, a way worth fighting for, even if you ended up having to fight the living as well as the dead.

Sophia was dancing again. It seemed like she hadn't stopped moving since T-Dog and Zoe were pronounced husband and wife - she had a smile and a hug for everyone. And he could almost sense where she was all the time. Although it was nicer to look for her, in that blue sundress that tied around her neck and swirled around her legs and did fantastic, arresting things with every inch of her that it didn't cover.

She'd worn her hair up, like Zoe's, but now long tendrils of it had drooped to her shoulders, and her bangs curled from sweat and humidity on her forehead. The white zephyr lilies she wore in her hair were starting to fall out, to be trampled beneath careless dancing feet.

Just watching her was great. But she'd passed him a few times, on the dance floor or at the table, and called "Save me a dance!"

And he was still saving, even though it sure didn't seem like she was. She was dancing with that tall Eddie guy again. Bastard.

He took another drink of the punch. Was it just him, or was it starting to taste...less shitty? If he sat here long enough he'd surely find out. 

The table shifted as Daryl sat down on one side, and Glenn on the other. Both of them just stared at him. Glenn's face was expectant, and Daryl's was...well, Daryl's. His default expression was somewhere between irritable and bored.

Carl couldn't handle it right now. "Spare me your weird good cop - bad cop routine. Yes, I'm waiting to dance with her. No, I'm not going to cut in on her and...that guy." He'd wanted something insulting, but Eddie wasn't a bad guy, so it was hard to genuinely dislike him.

Miracle of miracles, Daryl's eyebrows went up, and he actually smiled across the table at Glenn. "Damn. He caved pretty easy." 

Glenn patted Carl's shoulder. "He's sensitive."

"Fuck you both, seriously." 

Daryl made a _tsk_ sound and waved a finger at him. "Language. Who raised you?" 

Glenn put a hand on his collarbone in a pearls-clutchy gesture. Oh, yeah, like _he_ wasn't drunk. "I resent your implication. Carl never talked like that before we were around you regularly."

Carl groaned. "You two being parental is gross. Please stop."

Daryl and Glenn both leaned forward across the table, crowding him. "Whatcha gonna do about it, Grimes?" Daryl never had to work hard for threatening. 

Glenn just shrugged. Carl was on his own.

Okay, well, if that's how they were gonna be...Carl glared at his cup for a moment, and then picked it up and drained it. The afterburn made him cough, but he kept it down.

"Atta boy!" Glenn pounded his back. 

Daryl just sat back in his chair, arms crossed. "Don't be surprised if she shoots your ass down cold."

Carl rolled his eyes as he got up. "Thanks for the encouragement." The punch did seem to shore up his resolve. He was lucky the band wasn't playing a slow song.

As if on cue, they switched tunes while he was walking. Couples all around him embraced and started swaying. Jesus.

Eddie's back was to him, so Carl just walked right up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Um. Can I...cut in?"

Eddie smiled as he turned his partner. "Sure, man." The short redhead in his arms looked confused.

"Wait! I mean...uhh..." Carl normally knew lots of words, but they all escaped him. He turned back towards the table.

Sure enough, there sat Sophia with Glenn and Daryl, both of whom were grinning like fools. She held out her hands as if to say _what gives_?

"Sorrywrongpartnercarryon!" He babbled at Eddie and the redhead. Fortunately Sophia was now coming towards him and he met her at a dimmer edge of the dance floor.

"What was that all about?" she asked. Her eyelashes were long and tangled, and it made him realize he had regained the slight height advantage the past few months had given him; she'd kicked off the fancy heels that made her taller. 

"I thought...never mind." That pesky words thing again. Sophia didn't do a more formal dancing hold with him, the way Zoe had. She rested her forearms on his shoulders, and he mirrored it by putting his hands on her waist. He moved carefully, trying to be very aware of her bare feet.

It was hard to find anywhere to look. Other than her face. Freckled, flushed, with clinging bits of hair and flower petals. 

He almost twitched away when she brought up a finger towards his face. "What?" Oh God. Something in his teeth. Of course.

She startled at his reaction, and then relaxed. "It's nothing. I can just tell you were drinking the punch."

"Oh. Yeah, I was." He frowned a little. Could she smell it on his breath? "How can you tell?"

She laughed a little. "It made your mouth really...red." Her eyes dropped away, and her nostrils flared a bit as she inhaled. "I like it."

"Oh." 

It was really better when they were quiet. Sophia worked her way closer, until her arms were around Carl's neck, and he had to put his all the way around her waist. It really was easier to move that way, with her pressed up against him. He didn't have to worry about her feet so much because however he moved, she moved too.

"Um." Carl's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "So. The wedding was nice." Amazing. He was so smooth.

She smiled a little, and didn't look him in the eye. "Yeah. I love Zoe, and she's so good for T. I'm happy for them."

"Me too." He looked down at her bare shoulder, with its dusting of freckles over tanned skin. "Your dress is really pretty." 

Her head turned towards him, and she shifted in his arms, which alerted him to a problem with his compliment wording. "I mean...you look really pretty."

"Thank you." From the sound of her voice, he hadn't screwed that up, good. "You look good too."

Carl kind of doubted it - pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to combat the heat, and a tie he had to keep loosening. "Thanks. The lady across the street from us gave me this stuff." He thought of her sad smile, and they way she'd held the carefully folded clothes as she handed them to him.

Sophia nodded. "Someone loaned me the shoes I was wearing," she said, and then wrinkled her nose. "They hurt like hell."

"I'm glad you took them off." Carl said it too quickly. He looked down at her feet; the edges were coated in sand, and her toenails were a chipped coral-pink. 

"You smell good too," she said. The words were soft in his ear, with breath that cooled his skin.

If he turned his head, they'd...no. He couldn't do it. "Uhh...it's something Glenn picked up on his last run. Some random cologne. I don’t remember what it's called." 

She laughed softly. "Glenn's as much of a scrounger as I remember - you guys can make a decent living doing that around here." 

Carl thought about it - so far, it was true. Glenn was as resourceful as ever getting ahold of stuff that might be valuable to people, and there was a thriving barter-and-trade system in Cocoa. "Yeah, it's working out pretty good. He doesn't want me doing it with him all the time, though." Glenn had ideas about education and how Carl was going to get one.

"Yeah, mom was like that with me - everybody we knew who had something to teach, she would make trades so I'd get some sort of education. And T and Daryl would bring me books, and teach me how to work on engines." She pointed a finger at someone in the bar. "I heard Trixie had you helping her try to get the computers online at the med the other day."

He'd forgotten how everyone here knew everyone else's business. "Yeah, she's crazy, but she's like, a genius. She let me help her install the satellite peripherals, so nobody can cut our internet." He felt a sliver of pride. "Said she'd rather work with me than any of the people she went to MIT with."

This led to thirty seconds or so of talking about Trixie's eccentricities, and then the conversation lagged again. Carl swallowed. _Think_ of something. Don't be lame.

"So - you think you guys are going to stay here, then? Like, you've made up your minds?" Sophia worried an edge of her lip with her teeth. "When we first got here, Glenn was saying that after Daryl recovered, maybe..."

Carl shook his head. "No. We're staying." He smiled, glad to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt. "You're stuck with us."

"Dammit." Sophia sighed. Carl tried to come up with a way to backtrack, like, maybe they were still making up their minds, but then she put a hand on his face. "Carl. I was kidding."

Carl swallowed and willed his heart to start up again. "I know," he said softly. Her ear was right next to his mouth, and he felt her shiver - the sensation of his breath on her skin. _I did that_. Amazing. "But just so you know - this place could be full of walkers and Feds and everything and I wouldn't leave. Neither would Glenn."

"You're probably right," she agreed. "Not like Daryl would let him, anyhow." She shifted in his arms. Closer. "Hey."

"What?"

"They were looking earlier. Are they still?"

Carl swallowed, turned his head just slightly. Her mouth was right there - how could he look past that? "Um. They’re not there anymore."

For a second he thought she was going to say something. Then her lips were _there_ , against his, soft and tentative. He felt her fingers grip his shirt, hanging on, and he moved his hands up from her waist. Across her back, the sweat-damp fabric of her dress, and the soft skin above it. Her lips opened, and he tasted her, red punch and alcohol and sugar and saliva. He could feel her breathing, fast little exhalations through her nose.

When they broke apart, he realized what he'd thought was the pounding of his heart was the beat of the music. It had changed, fast and bubbly around them.

And, God, of all people - that Eddie guy again. Carl prepared himself to be gracious if he tried to cut in. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd just punch Eddie and take his chances.

"Hey," Eddie had a hand on Carl's shoulder, and a smile for both of them. "A bunch of us are gonna go down to the beach for a moonlight swim." His statement took them both in. "Wanna come?"

Carl felt Sophia's hands tighten in his shirt one more time, and she looked at him, face flushed and eyes bright. "Just one more dance," she said.

"Okay." Carl took hold of her hand and twirled her. 

He had to let go so she could finish her turn, but she came right back to him.

*

They'd given up on that fucking nasty punch. Good thing - Glenn wasn't walking too straight. He'd seemed just fine when he was dancing at the bar - not that Daryl had paid that close attention. Glenn had been cool, hadn't even asked him to dance. It didn’t really matter what any of those people thought - but Daryl still didn't plan to go queering it up that bad any time soon.

Daryl found a dry spot on the sand and sprawled out - he'd end up with it all down his shorts, but oh well. Worry about that later. Glenn frowned a little and wobbled as he turned to look back towards the brightly-lit bar on the pier. "You think the kids'll be okay back there?"

Daryl waved a hand over Glenn's concern. "They ain't even gonna notice we _left_. Quit bein' a mother hen."

Glenn plopped down next to him. "Hey, give me a break. I've spent what...almost six years now, trying to keep that kid alive. I'm allowed to worry a little."

"If you're gonna worry, worry about the hangover that kid's gonna have tomorrow," Daryl smiled. Glenn was just going to have to deal with his separation anxieties - hell. “Sophia wouldn't let shit happen to Carl. Just ‘cause she’s wearin’ some tiny little spray-on dress doesn’t mean she ain’t keeping at least one weapon in there somewhere.”

"That's...reassuring." Glenn hiccuped in between the words. "I am never going to get used to that homemade liquor."

"Nope. You'll go blind first."

Glenn leaned back on his elbows. "I'm starting to get used to living on the beach, though."

"Yeah, it ain't so bad." 

"Carl likes it here." Glenn kicked off his shoes and dug his toes into the sand. "I like that there are people around who keep an eye on him when I'm working."

Daryl tried not to roll his eyes - he got the concern, really, he did, but Glenn was overdoing it. You had to cut the apron strings at some point. "He's a smart kid. They like having him around the med helping out, or wherever." 

Glenn nodded. "I'm glad they let him. It's one less thing I have to worry about while I'm out on runs."

Now that Cocoa was cut off from the Zones, Glenn's skills were in demand. He'd spent a lot of the past couple of months on a crew that scoured the area for drugs and other medical items to keep the med center going. Hell, he was gone more often than not. Often enough for Daryl to miss him.

"Hutch says he's lucky to have you." Daryl shifted, uncomfortable. "There's stuff you could be doin' around here, if you don't like bein' out on the road so much."

Glenn shrugged. "It's what I'm good at." A smile crooked his mouth. "That whole 'in and out' thing."

Daryl was glad he wasn't still drinking, because that one would've made him choke. "Yeah. You're good at that." He had to swallow a couple of times anyhow. "There's stuff you'd be good at around here. So you wouldn't have to...you know." He stared as Glenn started to roll around on the sand. "What the hell, you got a crab bitin' your ass?"

Glenn arched his back and his shirt rode up a little bit - Daryl was already having a hard time concentrating, good Lord. He'd only been in Glenn's pants a few times since the doctors had cleared him for 'physical activity', and it still wasn't a routine thing yet. Not by a long shot. Now Glenn was digging in his back pocket. "You havin' a fit? Jesus."

"Something's poking me - okay." Glenn pulled his hand out of his pocket. "That's better."

Daryl leaned in closer. "The hell was it?"

"Oh. Nothing. What were you saying before?" Glenn tried to switch whatever it was to his other hand, but Daryl pounced. 

"Show me, you liar!" He grabbed Glenn's wrist and squeezed. When Glenn yelped, he felt bad enough to change tactics, and poked him in the side instead. He'd learned a couple of things about Glenn's body by now. Glenn would say he hated being tickled, but...yeah. That was some bullshit.

"Ow, fuck! Cut it out!" Glenn fought back, but he was laughing now as well as swearing, and it didn't take long for him to lose his grip on the thing. When it dropped to the sand, Daryl grabbed it.

"Ha. Got it!" He batted Glenn's hands away and hunched around his prize to look at it.

A little, crumpled piece of metal, sharp and deformed. Daryl held it up in the moonlight. No mistaking what that was.

"I asked Zoe to save it for me." Glenn's voice was unsure. "After you got out of surgery."

Daryl didn't really want it, so he handed it back. "Might be more of a souvenir if it killed me."

Glenn pushed him with enough force to land him on his back and knock the wind out of him. "Don't say that!" Before Daryl could speak or even breathe Glenn was kissing him, tongue deep in his mouth, grinding the back of his head into the sand. 

It took a few seconds for Glenn's face to come into focus when he pulled back. Dazed, Daryl touched his bottom lip where Glenn's teeth had cut into it. "I was kiddin’. Although if you wanna keep tryin’ to shut me up…” 

Glenn picked up the bullet from where it had fallen on the sand and put it back in his pocket. "I keep it because...because. You could be dead, but you're not." He leaned over and pushed Daryl’s shirt up, tracing the jagged scars with a fingertip. "I'm lucky. Maybe I like reminding myself of that."

Rather than blurt out the sappy response that was threatening to come out of his mouth, Daryl pulled Glenn down again. He wasn't so good with the words part of this, but the non-verbal stuff? Yeah. He could manage that, and manage to shut Glenn up with it too.

Glenn had a hand halfway down his pants when sounds from down the beach stopped them. They looked over and saw several kids running down the stairs from the pier and straight into the ocean, whooping and hollering.

"Uh. We don't have to do this here." Daryl bit Glenn's earlobe. "House is just a short walk."

Glenn gave him that puzzled frown again. "You never-"

"I never what?"

"You never like doing stuff at your place." Glenn looked away. "I know you'd rather not, like...sleep together. You like your space."

"My _space_?" Jesus. Glenn. Is an idiot. Or maybe _he_ is. Enough of this dancing around each other. "Oh, and that's why I slept _with your hat_ for two years." Shit, is he going to have to spell it out? "I'm sick of sleepin' alone. Space is overrated. You ain't the only one who kept things. To remind you."

Glenn was making one of those open-mouthed faces. "You kept my _hat_? My old hat?"

This was getting stupid. "Yeah." Glenn seemed to still be stuck on this bit of news, so Daryl continued. "And makin' out on the beach is like, cinematic and shit, but I ain't fond of sand in my crack, so." He got up and pulled Glenn up with him. "Can we go back to my house? And fuck? _In my bed_? And then...you know. Sleep, or somethin’.”

By now they were walking, and Glenn looked like Daryl had punched him in the face. "Yeah."

" 'Bout time, Jesus."

Glenn was shaking his head. "I swear to God. I don't know if I love you or hate you, some of the time." 

Daryl grabbed a handful of Glenn's hair and pulled him forward. "Both, probably."

They ended up tangled up in the sand again. The tide was coming in, but oh well.

There would be time to do it the right way. Later. Tomorrow. Whenever.

 

 _The End_.


End file.
